Pensive Bear - Creativity

I've been doing a lot of self analysis lately, and was directed by a close friend to examine, "what makes me happy; what turns me on; and gets me out of bed in the morning; what could I do over and over again, for too many hours a day, and still want to get up the next morning, and do it all over again?"

The most clear answer I can give to that question is, I am turned on (made happy) by the act of creating. Whether it's cut flowers in a unique floral arrangement, raw ingredients in a recipe, or fabric in a shirt, what gets me excited, what gives me that, "wow, life is good," feeling is the act of transforming those raw materials into something that, without the use of your hands, your imagination, instincts, knowledge, and practice, did not previously exist. In this same way, words are the raw ingredients of poetry and prose; and soap is a transformation from lye, water, essential oils, and a mixture of fats into a useful object that has it's own qualities of color, lather, and scent, that are - no matter how meticulous and consistent the process - unique to it's maker.

The trouble is that all these activities, while deeply rewarding, are also solitary pursuits. I am perfectly OK with that...most of the time. However; as someone who tends to exist too much inside my own head, and who works best on his own, I find it very hard to exist outside of that private creative world. Having a rich inner world is one thing, but feeling isolated and misunderstood because you don't posses the interpersonal skills to share that world with those closest to you, is another thing altogether.

Am I speaking in code? If you're an introvert, like me, chances are I am not.

Ultimately, I wonder if I will ever be able to accept feeling isolated and alone - from time to time - as nothing more than the price of admission to that rich inner world. I also wonder if turning inward to that world is, in the long run, good for my mental health, and the emotional wellbeing of those who are closest to me. It is clear, after twenty three years, that my husband has come to accept me as I am, just as my immediate family has over my lifetime. But, I sometimes wonder if I ever will accept myself as I am, or, if like some kind of perpetually unfinished project, I'll just keep trying to redesign myself into something I can't quite articulate, but that I can see when I close my eyes.