For some time, there has been speculation about what it would be like to leave Facebook. I have long felt I contributed much more than I gained, making the proposition much less than profitable in a relational way.
I deactivated my account a week ago and have also abandoned Twitter and Instagram. A lot of consideration went into these actions. It was not the choice of a moment.
The time I have gained is tremendous. I am not subject to the harmful material posted by others and have freedom from politics—more than that, the bombardment from advertising is gone.
All my social media has come to seem frivolous, and of little value, so I temporarily quit. Whether I go back is to be seen.
I joined the social networks to build a creative platform, and none of it seems applicable in that regard. The freedom from the tyranny of having to participate and the quantity of time I recovered are strong incentives to opt out permanently.
So, I am reporting from the outside, and the scenery looks gorgeous.
If creative practice is coming hard, the feeling is uninspired; this is not the time to break off working or quit. Waiting on the muse is not the way to breakthrough; action begets action.
When working, even without vision, the focus often appears. Creativity is not always fire from on high; sometimes, it works in the dark when the well is parched.
The best way to grow ability, skill, and talent is to use those endowments every day. Even stolen moments give time for proper application.
Creative block is a myth, or most often. The work is always available when dearly sought. Sometimes it may seem a safari fraught with desert spaces, but the jungle exists and is lush. Putting in the time, presence, generates ideas – effort reaps priceless rewards.
Practice daily, even when love lapses, passion ebbs, tunes the imagination for more significant endeavors. Sometimes it falls flat, but mistakes and failures can fold in as ingredients in other projects.
Journals, sketchbooks, devices can gather up scraps, scribbles, those pieces that become something more defined. Having a place to collect all the fragments that appear throughout the hours of the day permits imperfection and play.
Creativity is always present, but it can be shy and requires inviting into every day.
Be strong, for there is No other way to conquer fear Or release the love Needed to set worlds aright, Let hearts go on burning bright. Disappointment will Steal every happiness, if let – Expectations stir The wellsprings of discontent – Even deserted choose joy. Make alone – free space For empowerment and learning Bask in the design Which allows acquisition Of skill, creativity. Most experience Starts in imagination, Thought being precious Never waste it, cultivate Attitudes of gratitude. Be a positive Person in a negative World and different When others opt to conform, Be a presence live unique.
The dog is not about the rain. Miserable brown oval lakes accuse me of cruelty. For the raindrops fall, she sudden stops, still and quaking, shakes from nose to tail. I am unwilling this walk to take, but duty tethers me. She cannot count the scents for cover of water; slick it leaves her empty. She tucks her tail, turns, trots me to the door. I warn her, in vivid terms, not to make a deposit in the floor, but does it go beyond her flying nun orifices for understanding? I doubt it; stubbornness is her template. She is that dog, glimpsed, my heart forsook reason, had to adopt, immediately. Love names her mine; pain asks me why? The dog is not about the rain.
Old lions steady lope Aware of things imagined Unseen in high grass They seem settled, but their minds Know by heart, giving them speed, Rousing understanding Which youngsters lack. Time-worn lions carry the weight Of pride upon broad shoulders Unwilling to abandon the hunt Or leave the dangerous fight, Protecting who and what belongs Is reason enough for believing And the choice to abide, thrive.