Create

I am the person you see as you drive to work, school pickup, wherever you might be headed, that makes you wonder what is actually going on in that poor person’s head. In my car, I direct musical numbers-envisioning a chorus of high schoolers singing Some Nights (by Fun) with the guest drummer and electric guitar player.  The one who bops her head to every song and belts them all out like Broadway musical numbers and has complete conversations with the people in the backseat. My kids are not with me.

I have always thought of my imagination like a Tyrannosauras Rex- angry, wild, desperate for food, fixated on prey (creating) with insane ideas as palm trees come down around my footfalls and smaller creatures shudder and sprint in my presence. Saliva dripping from my thoughts and bloody, beautiful ideas waiting to pounce. Then, I realize my damn arms are too short, and I can’t even reach that delicious little dino snack right in front of me.  Sigh…..I guess I’ll have a yogurt. Yogurt makes me sad.

I love very, very hard. I see and feel sadness and pain with crystal clear perception- a unique skill I had as a child. I try to take it all- I don’t want others to feel it. I’m sad Spongebob. I soak it all in and try to make it better or sometimes I just try to hold it all in and build a Trump-sized wall around my heart so nothing bitter leaks out to anyone else. It’s a gift and a source of pride and great sorrow.

Once upon a time (10,000 years ago, yes) I was going to be a doctor. I had a full- ride scholarship to the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, and I was a biology major on the pre-med track because that’s exactly what I wanted to do. Except that I didn’t. I was a science whiz and am not and was never daunted by blood and guts. I love(d) the idea of healing people, taking their pain away (theme) but instead, I changed majors three times and eventually after much mental anguish, I left that school. My full-ride scholarship gone, poof, the end. Three years later I was graduating with a BFA in Theatre Performance from Miami University while my steadfast, proud parents sagged under the weight of debt. I guess what I really wanted to be was a TV doctor. Ooph.

But now, here I am and it makes a great party icebreaker, “Hey get to know the Fergusons! This is Cecily! She was smart enough to be a doctor but hey, she got a degree in theatre instead! Hahahahahaha Isn’t that hilarious??? Excuse me I have to put on more lipstick- would you like a refill on that drink?”

Sad Spongebob-ish, perceptive people with little outlet for creativity due to life situations, do not do so well, you see. They tend to get wide-eyed and panicky, most of the time they can be found hiding within oversized, dingy hoodies and the other bit of time, they can be found having life-altering, clutch-hugging conversations with strangers (named Linda) in random grocery store aisles because they have to wring out at some point. They get defensive and make New Year resolutions to become more grateful, less irritable, better parents, better spouses, and bring those they love closer all the while pushing their spongey, tired hearts to the back of their crappy, black hoodies while cooking dinner for 6 with their right hand, training the dog and reading Harry Potter to 7-year-olds with their left hand, watching Morning Joe and cringing with desperation and anger for what could lie ahead and planning their own women’s march over the entire state of Georgia, and all the while the inner-T-Rex is maybe dying or getting stronger- hard to tell- and they get all people-pleasey, boring……….wrung-out the wrong way.

But when an exquisite, lifelong heroine stands on a stage and accepts the award and speaks the words they know to be an absolute truth:  “Take your broken heart, make it into art.”, and their beautifully-broken yet somehow perfectly-put-together friend from home texts them and says, “Ok, girlfriend, you need to start up again.” (writing). Well, they (I) tuck away all of the “ah, it’s not good enough”, “nobody cares”, “it’s pathetic”, “I made a resolution not to complain anymore” and they fall to their knees on the kitchen floor, scrape up their heart pieces and burnt chicken teriyaki (the whole vegan thing is hard) and tired-ass creativity, and they……..create. A bit of not-good-enough, nobody-cares, I’ll-complain-if-I-want-to, this-hoodie-is-starting-to-smell writing.  Because what you may not know about these creative, T-Rex types is they are resilient as fuck.

Back it up Spongebob, She-Rex is ready to play.

xoxoxoxoxoxo Happy 2017