Glass colors

Maybe I should have picked a better subject for my first blog ever, but when I remember how much I hesitated to start blogging in the first place, I guess that any start is good enough. I’m not completely new to expressing my thoughts in writing, it is just that these thoughts never went online. So no deep minded grandiose beginning in my style, just a little fraction of today’s “fruits of the mind”…

My local on-line office supplies retail store offered a discount that expires this Sunday at midnight. It’s such a lazy, boring, uncomfortable day with tons of autumn-like rain creeping into my muscles, bones, nerves, blocking even the most daring rays of sun to get through my windows and reach my shadowed, limited reality. There isn’t much to do, partially due to a nasty flu that’s been robbing me of my strength and stamina for the 4th week in a row, and partially due to the everlasting crisis that holds its grip and erodes lives of people in my country for more than two decades. There is some work for people like me, temporary, insecure, from time to time. None at the time. I fear what tomorrow brings and try not to think about it. That’s why discounts are always good news, no matter how low they are. So, having unlimited time at my disposal, I went through hundreds and hundreds of items looking for newly displayed, original, interesting things. That’s how I came across a colorful pack of glass colors. Nothing so unusual or particularly interesting if it weren’t for the description that accompanied it: “glass colors for creative kids and those adults that still consider themselves as such…”

My brain almost immediately started its never ending analytic monologue. What does this mean? That the definition of the word “adult” doesn’t include the adjective creative? Or that glass colors are only meant for kids, so only “childish” adults are target customers in this case? I also couldn’t help but shiver at the instant recollection of me of before, a girl that was immensely fond of every creative, artistic expression she could come across, a decent artist, good photographer, someone with an eye for details and expensive taste. A girl that is unfortunately gone. A girl that grew up to become a sad, often bitter and resentful 37 year old woman deprived of many things my former life consisted of due to a disorder that turned all my dreams and plans into dust. A disorder with a nasty, scary and complicated long name. Panic disorder with severe and debilitating agoraphobia. Determined to leave the panic story for some other time, I tried to think about other people I know who never suffered from this condition. About how creative they used to be and how much they alienated themselves from the talents they still possess. What used to be praised as their qualities, became nuisance and time loss in this fast paced life, packed with tons of information, obligations and multiple multitasking vicious circles.

Is it truly only about permanent lack of time, or is it really that growing up kills creativity in us? Is it then obligatory to be childish in order to be creative? I force myself to object to the idea that it’s normal to lose creativity once you become an adult. Maybe it is just about the apathy created by this manic search for better ways to simplify hard things in life. Once you always had to bend and make a hard effort to scrub floors, now we have vacuum cleaners and various other devices that spare us from much of that previous physical effort. Once you always had to get up in order to switch TV channels and turn the device on and off. Now we have all sorts of sophisticated remote control devices, gathered into whole nets of commands in smart houses that even started thinking for us. And it gets more sophisticated every day. Where is the end point? Complete removal of physical effort from human life? Will we turn into flat, immobile beings reduced to only experiencing life performed by masses of robotic humanoids? Pure consumers, capable only of choosing items from the offered menus, deprived from any willingness to make something of our own? Or will we still be able to be creative, but never satisfied with our own expressions of creativity, because someone else got it better, because some factory will always make it more beautiful, neater and more special than we can ever think of doing with our own hands? Will we remain convinced that we are not good enough even for ourselves?

Such ideas fill me with some uncomfortable dread and make me fearful of future. I guess I should order glass colors and make that small contribution for survival of creativity in adults. I don’t mind being considered childish, it’s dull and boring life that scares me a lot more.

Maybe that’s also why I started blogging. To leave some mark. To so to speak, write my thoughts out loud, so that I can squeeze some meaning into me of today.

So, happy start… and until next thought. šŸ™‚

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