Can't think of a title

Creativity. "I am not creative." I'm not sure where that came from. I can recall as far back as first and second grade, regarding creativity.

In first grade, we had an assignment to make a drawing depicting what would happen if our heart were broken -- or what would cause our heart to be broken. I forget the occasion, but in the end we taped them up on our lockers, facing the known world. I told myself I knew well what the teacher had in mind -- we were supposed to conjure sketches of lost puppies, sick family members, and the like. I was uninspired by the assignment, so I took the question literally and stated, "If my heart were broken, I would be dead," and colored a picture of a cemetery -- I had seen a national cemetery from the Civil War on television, with its straight rows of crosses and stars of David, and that's what I drew.

In second grade, we were tasked with crafting a short story. It was to be at least a hand-written, grammar-school-lined page -- maybe more -- which was really long at the time. It could be on anything of our choosing. But, "I wasn't creative," so I said I couldn't come up with anything. After some prodding, I eventually wrote about some tigers and a waterfall, I believe, and, as a seven-year-old, considered the story trite and uninspiring. I probably got an A, which is usually what happened when I did anything in elementary school.

This pattern has continued through to the present day, and I think it is a manifestation of "I'm not good enough," my companion. What is creativity if not expression of opinion? It's saying, "this is where I stand, and this is how I'm expressing that stance." Creativity just happens as we exist. I have a history of believing my opinion has little -- if any -- worth. And as my position changes, as expression of opinion becomes a duty, creativity becomes possible -- or, more accurately, I recognize that creativity has always been there. When we are honest with ourselves, and when we share that without reservation or regret, we create works (and relationships) that perhaps remind us, with a greater clarity, why we love to live in the first place.