“You should be a writer,” a friend of mine told me.
“I love your pictures. Did you go to school for that?” another friend asks.
And so I wonder, how does one earn the title of writer or photographer? Is it in your blood? Must you have a degree?
When I was a little girl I choreographed dances and wrote music with my siblings. We put on plays and fashions shows. I covered my walls with movie posters and photographs torn out of magazines. I wrote notebooks full of stories, poems and journal entries that would never see the light of day.
In high school I took photography, videography and journalism classes. When I was looking for a job out of high-school a friend of mine suggested demanded that I fill out an application to work at a photography studio. “You’d be perfect for the job!” she said. She’s was right. It was the best job I’ve ever had.
Yet, somehow, I still never believed I was creative and lived vicariously through other peoples masterpieces. I didn’t think anyone would want to read my words. I couldn’t believe my pictures were good enough to be shared. I filled my days with a “real” job and hid my jealousy of those bold enough to live out their passions. I forced myself to struggle through calculus and chemistry instead of creative writing and color theory. I couldn’t see what was meant to be.
But now I know,
“Creativity means letting go of trying to be ‘perfect’…it means being willing to be wild, silly and downright outrageous.” -Christine Mason Miller
I write, therefore I am a writer. I take pictures, therefore I am a photographer. And when I hit “publish” and my work goes live, I feel like I exist. I am an artist.
I snuck this picture of my hubby reading: me snuggled up to him with my favorite thing (my camera), him with his favorite thing (a book).
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