writing

Snowmen aren’t forever

As we were coming home this evening after a long day of church and youth wrestling, my daughter and I noticed that the snowman she built earlier this week had started to melt. It still has its general shape and the sticks she used for arms are still there, but it is a smaller, less distinguished version of itself, and its holly-leaf eyes and nose are gone. “Awww,” she said, “My snowman is melting. I worked so hard on him.” 

“Sadly dear, nothing in this world lasts forever,” I told her, “So we have to appreciate them while they are here.” “But daddy,” she replied, “I saw a sign the other day that said, ‘Presidents are temporary. Wu-Tang is forever.'” I grew up listening to the hip hop group Wu-Tang Clan so I couldn’t help but to laugh when I heard this.

“That’s just hyperbole, dear,” I said, “Wu-Tang is not really forever any more than your snowman is.” “What’s hyperbole?” she asked. “It’s an exaggeration,” I told her, “but its an exaggeration not meant to be taken seriously. It’s a joke. Wu-Tang Clan has been making music for over thirty years, but, like your snowman, they aren’t forever. Only God is forever.” 

Now, I realize that this is too much for a nine-year-old to fully comprehend. Honestly, the concepts of transience and eternity are too much for any of us to fully comprehend. However, I don’t think it’s a conversation that should be avoided. Our time here is extremely short and our time with our children is even shorter. What good does it do to withhold the most important conversations about the most important subjects from them? 

Of course, I want my daughter to enjoy her childhood and to be a kid for as long as she can be a kid, but I also want her to know that there is more to life than simply what she sees and feels. My hope is that, by understanding just how impermanent her snowman, or Wu-Tang Clan, is, that she appreciates it even more while it lasts. 

Her experience of building that particular snowman in that particular moment was truly one of a kind. It never happened before and will never happen again. Her sadness in seeing it melt is real and it should be acknowledged as such. If she cared about what she created, of course there is some grief in its passing, even if it is just a snowman. This sense of loss is real and it will not be the last time she experiences it. 

But I don’t think God created this world of impermanence simply for us to exist in a perpetual state of sadness, grief, and loss. Rather, the fact that we live in an ever-changing world where everything that is born eventually dies and everything that is built eventually crumbles should make us appreciate the preciousness of each and every moment, experience, and interaction as the amazing gift that it is. Furthermore, this experience of impermanence calls us to go deeper, to seek or settle into that which does not change, does not die, and does not pass away (Malachi 3:6). 

Like my daughter’s snowman, “Everything around us is going to melt away, (2 Peter 3:11).” So our task, it seems, is to cherish our time here as much as possible without clinging to it. As St. Francis of Assisi said, we are to “wear this world like a loose garment.” But we are called to do so while loving so deeply that, through our example, others may also come to know the constancy of God’s eternity through Christ Jesus (John 13:34-35). 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Dating the muse

Imagine someone asks you out on a date and you agree to go. So they make a reservation at a nice restaurant and you both make plans to meet there. 

As the day approaches, you get offered a ticket to go see your favorite sports team in the championship game, but it’s on the same night as your date. Conflicted, but not wanting to miss this once in a lifetime opportunity, you call up your date and ask to reschedule, explaining the situation. They understand and change the reservations to another day that works for both of you. 

You have every intention of going on the date, but again, something comes up. This time, an emergency comes up at your job. You are needed there. Once again, you call up your date and explain the situation. They are a little less understanding this time, but agree to give you another chance and so they once again change the reservation to another day that works for both of you. 

Again, you have every intention of going on the date. But something else comes up.

How many times do you think this can happen before the other person stops taking you seriously? How many times can you not show up before they stop wanting to be with you? How many times can you stand someone up before it is obvious that they are not a priority and they move on? 

Now imagine the person asking you out on a date is your creative inspiration, the muse if you will. You say you want to be creative. You say you want to make art. You claim to want to be taken seriously and to be able to make a living with your creative work. But your actions say otherwise. 

How many times can you ignore inspiration before it starts ignoring you? How many times can you choose something else over your creative work before your creative work has had enough of you? How many times can you stand up the muse before it goes elsewhere and leaves you to that which you consistently choose over your art? 

Set aside time to make do you creative work. Choose a time and a place and show up. Show up consistently. Take your art as seriously as you want it to take you. You are not promised inspiration. The muse owes you nothing. Form a relationship with your creative work. Be attentive to it, nurture it, and care for it. 

Treat your art like you would treat a loved one. Better yet, treat your art like you would like to be treated by a loved one. If you take it seriously, if you show up for it and care for it, your art will always be there for you, but don’t take it for granted. Don’t make it wait. The muse is a jealous lover. 

Art won’t make itself

The thing about art is that you have to do it. The painting won’t paint itself. The song won’t play itself. The book won’t write itself. The dessert won’t cook itself. You have to do it. 

And it’s not easy. It’s not easy to do well. It’s not easy to make good art. It’s even more difficult to make good art and to find an audience for that art. 

But if you don’t make it and you don’t share it, no one will ever see, hear, taste, or feel what you have to offer. It will just stay in your head and that is where it will die.

So do something. Make something. Make something terrible. Make lots of terrible things. Keep doing it until you get better. 

When you feel like your art is halfway decent, like it even somewhat resembles that which you were aiming for, share it. Don’t wait to share your art until it is perfect. It will never be perfect. Share it when it is shareable. 

Then, make more art. The more art you make and the more art you share, the better your art will become. There are no shortcuts. Your art isn’t going to make itself. 

Creativity is difficult

Creativity is difficult. This is not a complaint. It’s merely an observation.

Many years ago, I heard an interview with the great jazz trumpeter Miles Davis where he talked about musical improvisation. He explained to the interviewer that, while there was a basic structure to the songs he played, he never played the same solo twice. In this way, every night was a different experience of the music for both him and the audience. 

The interviewer remarked that it must be difficult to be that creative every night. Yes. Yes it is. 

Sometimes new ideas come easily. They just pour out and all you have to do is channel them. Other times, it feels like torture, like nothing you do can or will make the ideas come. You just fumble over sputters and sparks, but can’t seem to make anything come to life. 

This is all part of the process. Creativity is work. It’s meaningful, fulfilling work, but it is work nonetheless. 

If you want to call yourself an artist, prepare to struggle. Prepare to grapple with your work, and to feel incapable and defeated from time to time because nothing you do feels right. 

Do your work anyway and just don’t quit. 

I am terrified of my creative voice

I am terrified of my creative voice. It frightens me because it sounds a lot like my pain. 

I am hesitant to enter that place inside of me because I am afraid of what I will find, I am afraid of what will come out, and I am afraid that I will not be able to leave once I enter. 

I dance around this fear and I do good work, but it isn’t my work, not in the truest sense because it is impersonal. What is personal is the pain, the grief, the anger, and the shame, but I am afraid to go there. 

I want my art to be uplifting, I want to make a positive impact, and I want to make people happy, but I also need to dig deeper. I need to dive into the pain. I need to unearth the lessons it wants to give me. I need to not be afraid of what I will find because all I will find is the truth. 

I am still searching for my creative voice because it exists on the other side of fear and I have not yet gone there. I have not yet become truly vulnerable, and there is no art without vulnerability. 

Even this is merely writing around the truth, not diving into it headfirst without hesitation. Even this is a form of hiding. This is me avoiding the real work. 

This is not my creative voice. This is something else. 

Get to work

Make your creative work easy to do. Not that creative work is easy, but make it easy to access. Reduce the friction that keeps you from doing it. Take away as many excuses as you can before you even start so that starting is easy. 

Put your creative time on your calendar. Block it off. Do it at the same time every day. Never double-book during your creative time. Give yourself a quiet space to work. Have your commonly used tools ready and available so that all you need to do is to pick them up. Tune out distractions or better yet, turn them off altogether. 

Whatever you need to do in order to make it easy to do your creative work, do it. Every little thing adds up. Remove all of the obstacles in your path until it is just you and your work. Now the easy part is done. The hard part is actually doing the work. 

Now that you have no excuses, the only thing standing between you and your art is you. When you have removed all external resistance and you are finally standing face-to-face with your work, and you still don’t want to, don’t know how to, or can’t get started, you have just met the real problem. 

Get over yourself and get to work. 

Your creative voice

The only way to find your creative voice is to use it. If you want to be a better writer, write more. If you want to be a better painter, paint more. If you want to be a better chef, cook more. 

But you can’t stop there. You have to share your work. Put it in the world. Let people interact with it. There is only so much you can do to refine your creative skills in isolation. 

Art needs to be seen, heard, and felt. It needs to be experienced. 

In order for you to find your creative voice, your voice must be heard by others. 

Make your art. Share your art. Put it into the world and see what comes back. Do this over and over again and you will find that you are changed. 

You begin to be more like yourself. Your work starts to feel more like your own. You discover that what you have to say is worth saying and that you are the only one uniquely qualified to say what you have to say in the way that only you can say it. 

If you want to find your creative voice, you will have to be brave. You will have to risk being ignored, misheard, or misunderstood, and you will have to speak up anyway. Speak up through your art. Say what you have to say loudly and persistently enough that you cannot be ignored. 

Write anyway

Sometimes writing is a pleasant experience. Other times, it is quite painful. Tonight, for me, it is painful. 

The words are simply not coming. I’m grasping for ideas, but they continue to elude me. 

I’m clawing around in the dark for a lifeline, some relief, some inspiration, but all my desperate fingers can find are the empty corners of an empty room where ideas used to live.

And I know they are just words, but they are more than that. When they come to me, I am comforted as if by a dear friend. In their absence, however, I feel lost, frightened, and alone. 

Tonight, I feel as though I have been abandoned. I have nothing to say and no one to say it to. In this moment, this is all I have to offer, that I write anyway. 

So much to write about

There is so much I want to write about, but I get stuck. I get stuck, not because I have writer’s block and not because I don’t know what I want to say, but because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what people will think. I’m afraid that if I share my experience and my feelings, that I will make others unhappy. 

This isn’t an irrational fear. It’s based on my lived experience. For as long as I can remember, my feelings have been a secondary concern. For as long as I can remember, I have had to withhold, reframe, or filter my feelings in order to protect the feelings of others. For as long as I can remember, my feelings have been held against me. 

Since childhood, my experience, or my interpretation of my experience, has been questioned, ignored, or dismissed outright. My truth has been twisted and manipulated until I begin to question myself. I’ve been made to feel like I’m crazy for having needs, for having a voice, and for wanting to be seen and heard. 

This is not self pity. This is my experience, and this is why I’m stuck. I’m not stuck because I have nothing to write about but because I have so much that I want to say, and I’m afraid to say it. But I have to, not because I want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I simply want to process my hurt in a way that others feel seen and heard, and so that my experience may benefit others. 

On Writing – Holistic Budo

The following is a resharing of the webpage copy about my other blog ‘Holistic Budo: The Way of the Gentle Warrior’

Holistic Budo originally started as an attempt to tell stories about my martial art journey and how it has shaped and informed the person I am today. Hence, the name Holistic (the interconnectedness of things) Budo (martial arts), or how my whole life and person has been positively affected and influenced by my martial art practice. 

As the years progressed, however, I began to understand that the lessons learned in martial arts and the lessons learned in life are not separate. In this way, the concept of Holistic Budo became a self-fulfilling truth. This led to the tagline: As in life, so too in budo. As in budo, so too in life. 

Many blog posts later, Holistic Budo is now a sort of personal, daily meditation wherein I write advice on how to live a more open-hearted, compassionate, and creative life. This advice is mostly written to myself, as I need it as much as anyone, but it is also written to my daughter’s future self in the event that I am no longer around to guide her directly. As long as my writing exists, she will have a way to look to me for guidance should she so desire. 

You can read Holistic Budo HERE. If you find value in my writing, please leave a comment letting me know what you think or what your personal experience is with the topic of a given post. I write for myself, but I share my writing so that others may benefit from it as well. It is good to know that what I am putting into the world is making a connection and that I am not alone. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh