This is Not a Confession

Written by on November 10, 2009 in Conversations on the Healing Journey with 0 Comments

It’s interesting the last post I wrote here is entitled “Losing Our Childhood”.

What about our present moments? What about your life? The one you wanted to craft, the one you dreamt of creating, the one that’s supposed to be rich in experiences with those closest to you, with your creative passions and love.

You can’t have everything, and the closer toward the end of my life I travel, the more I appreciate just how true that is. So priorities become dearer and each moment is cherished all that much more.

These are not moments to be used up in anxiety or hurt or anger or any of those emotions that suck the life out of you.

I want my artist life back. Heck, I want it fully and wholly for the first time. Because everything I have ever done has always been on borrowed time, has always been with some kind of apology or after some kind of struggle to wrest a piece of it for myself. That’s why it took me four years to create our first CD from the time we started recording to the time the CD was pressed; why it took me so long to ever write the songs.

I don’t regret any of the time I have spent helping loved ones who truly needed my help. I do regret not protecting more of my time with my children from people who had no right to it but took it anyway. But in these past couple days, I have realized that I really do need to make a change. I need to make a change in my life and embrace that life like I never have before.

I’m an artist. That is not a dirty word. This is not a confession. It’s a declaration.

I’m an artist who needs to write – not just spend countless hours journaling out my feelings over having been verbally abused or emotionally slammed or strung along or betrayed or disrespected or some other natural consequence that arise from toxic situations, but to truly write – manuscripts and songs, to learn the musical instruments I’ve always wanted to learn or improve, to pick up a paint brush and perhaps even paint.

I need to come back to that artistic center, my artistic self and do what I need to do before I die. Life is short, and death often comes unexpected. I don’t mean to sound morbid here, but the resource that is most squandered is time – and not one of us has so much we can afford to do that.

And if you don’t value yourself, don’t expect anyone else to. If you’re not considerate of your time, don’t expect others to be. If you don’t prioritize your art and its development, don’t expect others to set up your easel for you or fill your fountain pen. It’s your creativity. It’s your life. You have to live it or watch it slip away.

I’m back. I’ve been in a state of shock or mourning or loss or something. I’ve resurfaced and then gone back under. But today I come kicking back up to the surface, my lungs gasping for air. I’m mad. I’m inspired. I’ve been laid flat and I’m coming up swinging.

Things are going to change. And this time I’m determined my words won’t come back to taunt me.

This time they won’t merely be a record of what I failed to do, but the beginning of what I finally accomplished.

About the Author

About the Author: Demian Yumei, author, singer/songwriter and artist activist, uses spoken, written word and original songs in her human rights activism. She's a long time traveler on the healing journey and has a lifelong love affair with the creative process. .


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