Summer has finally sprung in the Northeast. It's sunny, hot, and all around there is an abundance of fertile green growth. After an endless New England winter and a rainy New England spring, I'm grateful for all that summer brings.
Somehow, it's so much easier to be happy on beautiful days. It's so much easier to be productive on beautiful days. It's so much easier to be creative on beautiful days, etc. etc. etc. It's ALL just easier on beautiful, summer days.
Surrounded by everything from my potted tomatoes, eggplants, and miscellaneous other veggies growing and blooming--in effect, fruitfully producing--I find that I want to echo that same productivity. I want some tangible form of my work to show to everyone, to show myself.
Like its external counterparts, creativity has seasons of its own. Maybe they sync with the rhythms of nature--ideas and productivity slow in the winter, germinate quietly, with little or no visible progress. You slog through the frozen tundra that is the editing process, praying that a snow yeti will put you out of your misery. You pursue some ideas that aren't strong enough to make it through summer's end, let alone the fall. You clear out this dead growth and plant new ideas. And in summer--verdant, glorious summer--you hope these seeds will grow, blossom, and provide a tangible outcome for all of your labor.
That is my goal this summer.
And hey, if it doesn't work out, at least I can go out and enjoy a beautiful summer day...or maybe even get inspiration from a beautiful summer day and begin the process again.
Somehow, it's so much easier to be happy on beautiful days. It's so much easier to be productive on beautiful days. It's so much easier to be creative on beautiful days, etc. etc. etc. It's ALL just easier on beautiful, summer days.
Surrounded by everything from my potted tomatoes, eggplants, and miscellaneous other veggies growing and blooming--in effect, fruitfully producing--I find that I want to echo that same productivity. I want some tangible form of my work to show to everyone, to show myself.
Like its external counterparts, creativity has seasons of its own. Maybe they sync with the rhythms of nature--ideas and productivity slow in the winter, germinate quietly, with little or no visible progress. You slog through the frozen tundra that is the editing process, praying that a snow yeti will put you out of your misery. You pursue some ideas that aren't strong enough to make it through summer's end, let alone the fall. You clear out this dead growth and plant new ideas. And in summer--verdant, glorious summer--you hope these seeds will grow, blossom, and provide a tangible outcome for all of your labor.
That is my goal this summer.
And hey, if it doesn't work out, at least I can go out and enjoy a beautiful summer day...or maybe even get inspiration from a beautiful summer day and begin the process again.
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