All my creative lives...

Why do I write? Why does anyone? (Silly question…You probably write. You know why.)

OK— here’s the truth. I’ve had lots of creative lives, including the one where I was a professional musician. (Yes indeed, that’s me up there, back in the day. 1979ish)

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But back to the subject... why do we write? Let’s see… personal therapy, a need to get it all out, that burning desire to tell a story. An emotional, inner urge to share. People who do this wordy thing have always done it, including me. I’ve filled dozens of journals over my long life, written short stories, poetry, essays, had a few articles published in some local papers years ago, kept a blog about art and life for several years, but I never considered myself to be “a writer”.

Oh yes, and songs. I wrote lots of songs. Back then, in my music life, I was writing, and, as you can see, playing and singing my heart out on stages, in bars, clubs, restaurants, coffee houses, with other musicians and bands, and solo. That was so long ago, another lifetime. Here are a few more vignettes of my musical life:

It was long ago, another lifetime. I'm grateful for all the creative lives I've had.

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Just one of many reviews. I sometimes ask myself if I really did live that life, for all those years…and yup, I did. There were reasons I gave it up. (As they say, it’s complicated…)

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Moving on to my next creative life..

I’m also an artist, and have made art all my life (right alongside the music.) After briefly attending a small music school in Boston at age 17, I went to art school. I made lots of art, different kinds. Painting, sculpture, ceramics, glass. While making the art, I also wrote about it. Then at the age of 53, I went to graduate school and got my MFA in studio art , graduating in 2010, at 58. (Not exactly a spring chicken.)

MFA work- large drawings, sculpture, a lecture

I am, at the very least, an eclectic creator. Here’s some of my recent life as an artist (just the painting part) :

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I also had a creative life as a mother. I brought two wonderful daughters (who are also artists) into the world, and I am so grateful and proud that they’ve both crafted their own creative lives. (I must have done something right.)

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OK, back to writing again…

I’ve only been tapped into Substack for a couple of months, and more and more, it’s becoming a community for me, made up of lots of tribes and villages and schools. A place to wander and wonder, learn and co-create, be amazed and shocked and brought to tears and enlightened. And inspired! It’s also a place to share my own Continuing Wonderment, my current life as an artist/writer, as well as including bits about my long-ago life as a musician.

Putting words on a page somehow feels talismanic. How did all these words come to be? Who were the brilliant beings who created visual marks and symbols with which to illustrate sounds that became letters which became sentences that could communicate thoughts, feelings, fears, joys, concepts, which morph into actions, societies, cultures, civilizations? It boggles the mind.

I’m embracing this creative life, the writing life, and I’m finally brave enough to claim “writer” as part of my resumé. (Not yet author… maybe someday!) It’s taken a few years to actually jump into the pool and get wet— the first diving board was my foray into Medium a couple of years ago, and just recently here on Substack.

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While I haven’t forgotten my Netflix login, and the pile of books on my desk seems to multiply, and Instagram still calls (I need that connection with all the other artists), putting words on paper (or screen) has become far more important as I begin this word journey in the last 3rd of my life. (Not to forget— going down the Substack rabbit hole is time-consuming and riveting. Also inspiring and enlightening and educational 📚 )

And also— like so many women writers I am discovering here, I am finally working on that memoir (re: betrayal, recovery, self discovery.) I’m not worrying about whether or not I can manage to get it all the way to publication. The goal for me, at this point, is the journey.

I’m not painting these days, but that’s ok. It will happen when I feel called to start pushing paint around again instead of tap-tap-tapping on the keys. I’m lucky.

Thanks, Substack— (all you lovely writers!!!)— for sharing your astonishing ideas, knowledge, questions, wisdom, inspiration, authenticity, care, inquiry, humor, grief, and basically, yourselves. I've finally found my tribe.

Time to write now, right now.

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Over to you… Have you been lucky enough to focus on just one creative life, and have it be your ultimate calling? Or have you had more than one, like me? Do you miss any of them if you’ve left them behind? I miss the music, but not that lifestyle. I sometimes wonder how things would have turned out if I’d stuck with just one creative life. (But then, I wouldn’t have what I now have. It boggles the mind…)

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Writing is my new (renewed) passion, and I’m just getting started here on Substack. If you appreciate Continuing Wonderment and what I’m sharing, please let me know by clicking the❤️, leave me a comment, and please subscribe, share, or restack. Thanks for being here… I truly value this community.