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It has been a long time since I have identified myself as a creative person. When I was younger, I used to write poems and take them very seriously. I would spend all night writing in the dark and let the words fly out of me. As the years passed, I stopped feeling things so deeply. I am not sure what changed. It could be age, it could be maturity, it could be meditation (?!) or apathy. I don’t think it to be a negative thing. Though lately, I have been craving some sort of creative genius within me to come out. For so many years, I focused on more practical and earthly things like keeping my house clean or being organized. But, that all starts to get a little boring.

In the past month, I have gone to two painting classes and though I don’t necessarily fancy myself to be the next Monet, I had fun. I didn’t completely suck. Most of all, I lost myself in the hours of painting. These classes have only cracked the door open for me toward putting my focus in expressing myself in one way or another.

It’s pretty awesome.

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*Post inspired by Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert.

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