Dear Wisdom:

There is so much in your last post. I will respond to only a few things but I want to attend to everything over time.

Your art: you fear that if you produce a certain painting, something genius, authentic, something from deep within you, that it will be stolen from you, taken from you. You feel that you have something very special in you, a certain power, a certain knowledge, some talent, something special but it scares you to let it out because others may take it away from you.

It makes me think of a child doing a drawing in school and pridefully march to a parent: “Look mommy, look what I made!”

Do you know that kind of pride? The child, young child… she doesn’t know yet that someone is going to “rain on her parade” big time. She doesn’t know yet! She really thinks she is great (and she is!)- but she doesn’t know about the serious blow she is about to get.

She doesn’t know yet. She doesn’t expect it. So, unprotected, sure of her own genius, her own magic, masterpiece, she marches with the drawing to her mother: “Look What I Made!”

And she stands there if front of her mother, with the drawing in hand, absolutely sure her mother will be just as fascinated by the genius of it, the magic in it, that special thing in it… a smile on her face, expecting nothing but the same wonder on her mother’s face.

Her mother takes the drawing, looks at it and puts it down, resuming drinking her coffee. The little girl is still standing there, not understanding. Still waiting. “Something is wrong” she is thinking. So she is still waiting. And the mother looks at her and says in an angry voice: “What are you doing standing there! Take your butt to the bathroom, and wash your face, it is dirty! And take that stupid smile off your face!”

The little girl is stunned: stupid smile? “That is a stupid smile on my face. There is no wonder in my drawing. I am stupid.”

And she goes to the bathroom and washes her face. “Dirty face” she says to herself as she looks in the mirror. “Stupid girl” And so that special moment was taken away from her and the blow is as painful as can be. It hurts and she remembers it.

So when she draws again, days later, when the pain is not as intense, she still likes to draw but she is afraid. As she gets excited about her drawing, she remembers the pain and she is scared. “I better not draw..” she tells herself. “I better not show it to anyone…if I do, they will steal it from me (steal this joy, this hope that indeed there is something special and wonderful and magical about the drawing).

What do you think about my story here? Can you relate?

anita