“…writing has always been there. It’s never held my soul very tightly. It was always there, waiting for me to see it as something to pursue.”
I had planned to move on from the self-examination of the past few days, but apparently that examination is not yet over. I was going over yesterday’s post, primarily checking for really glaring errors, and the passage from the concluding paragraph jumped out at me.
It was one of those moments that made me understand how the Ancient Greeks could come up with the concept of muses for different aspects of the creative arts because I could just picture a figure, I suppose a faceless woman in flowing robes (the muses were feminine, after all), standing there in the background, her presence known but not embraced. She has just stood there, open-handed, while I’ve moved through my life dancing between consuming passions and passing fancies. Paralegal school, political engagement, gaming, photography, cycling. All the while, this woman, this muse waited, knowing deep down that when I came to the end of my wanderings, I would find myself with her.
I still don’t know what it will ultimately look like for me to embrace this muse, especially since I have no desire to become a solitary writer, but it’s not the first time someone has known me and has held on to me loosely while I took my own sweet time finding my way to her. You see, there was another figure in my life, also female (although not in flowing robes) who waited for me to figure myself out. The difference is that this one had, well has, a face, a beautiful face and a loving, insightful, patient nature so beguiling that I could do no less than fall in love with her and marry her.
That has worked out pretty well, so maybe I’ll stick with this writing thing and see what happens.