Creativity is Delicate

I listen to classical music when I drive.

This might make me seem like an elderly woman, to which I say, “Works for me. I like old ladies.” My station of choice is Symphony Hall (channel 76) on Sirius XM satellite radio. I like it because, in addition to beautiful music, they have smart commentary that teaches me a whole lot about the music and the composers. Also, there are no commercials, huzzah. And it does more for me than basically all other music (which I still like, a lot). It fixes my brain. I don’t know how, but it does.

Last week, one of the DJ’s spoke about an obscure (to me) composer who, he said, “went dark,” for a period of about three years during his prime composing age because “he was silenced by depression.”

This went straight to my heart. I understood that composer, whose name I can’t even remember.

Creativity is a delicate thing.

It operates at the mercy of factors that seem to change with the wind, the seasons, and all sorts of shifting circumstances. When my 24/7 life featured me running ragged for Jack’s care, I wrote prolifically and continuously. Now, I have more time and room to think, and I simply don’t care to write.

Just now I started to type, “it means nothing to me,” but I couldn’t. Clearly, writing still means something to me, but it means something different.

I suppose the things I have to say feel more private, less funny, less like “the old blog,” darker, and definitely more monotonous. I couldn’t care less about publication or numbers of hits as charted by Google Analytics. If blogging is a conversation with readers, I am not holding up my end of it.

Blogs are dead, or so I hear, though I have been defiantly blogging regularly the last 5.5 years in spite of the so-called death of the blog. Are they dead because nobody reads them anymore? I’m the wrong person to discuss this topic, because I obviously do what I want in the online pontificating sphere, regardless of internet trends. We can probably agree that it’s all about Instagram now, which I have no problem with. You can say everything you need in a lengthy (or brief) Instagram caption, and there’s a photo, and it’s all right there in ye olde news feed.

Or maybe blogs are dead because bloggers are tired of blogging.

Who’s to say?

Anyway, the fact remains that I have less to say now, and it isn’t lighthearted or even particularly enlightening.

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