A Beautiful Life

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My creative writing professor told my class last semester that, “Writers are really fun people when they’re not depressed.” That quote made me laugh. Although I do not suffer from clinical depression, I stress myself out over deep questions that many creative, emotional, passionate (and modest) souls like myself spend their time contemplating. I think that writers are just one sub-culture of the artist culture. Our sister “subs” are groups such as the painters, dancers, photographers, and singers

I hung out with a friend of mine last semester, and she’s also a writer. We decided to take an online personality quiz together, and one of the questions it asked us was, “Do you enjoy occasionally being in a melancholy mood?” I looked up at my friend and said, “Oh, my. I do.” She nodded her head enthusiastically and said, “I do, too.”

I don’t know how she gets herself into melancholy moods, or if she even tries to, but I listen to the most depressing songs on my playlist and then think about all of the problems with the world or all of my problems or all of my friends’ problems. On my most successful days I cry a little. Then I create something or write. I enjoy the whole process, although I feel badly for my friends who get random text messages from me that ask questions such as, “What do you think is the point of your life?”

I get my creative personality from my dad’s side of the family, which is full of actors, writers, comedians, and singers. I hung out with my uncle, aunt, and their three daughters this past weekend. The oldest one hid and read a book for half the day. The middle one demanded that I record videos on my camera so that we could make a theatrical video to put on YouTube. The youngest one is the comedian.

Their father came home later that afternoon. After he discussed literature with me and described his self-discoveries, all of which reminded me of myself, he mentioned the fact that the signature at the end of all my text messages is “free thinker.”

“Is that how you would describe yourself now,” he asked, “or is that what you aspire to be?”

All I could think of when he asked me that were my friends who always tell me, “Hun, I can’t answer the questions you ask me. Sometimes I don’t even understand what you’re asking.”

I have a poster in my room. It has a picture of a microphone, a sheet of music, and a page of song lyrics. The words over all of these pictures say, “Music is what feelings sound like.” I agree, and I think that art is what feelings look like, dance is what feelings move like, and writing is what feelings have to say.

Living as a creative soul may not be the easy life, but I do think that it’s the most beautiful life.





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