Unbridled Creativity 6/19/2022

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

Sometimes having a vivid imagination can be less than ideal. You may be thinking that it would be perfect for someone who enjoys writing. And yes, for the most part you would be correct. But that is when I use my mind’s artistry as a tool.  There are times though that you do not wish to have pictures painted or fanciful flights taken within the confines of your own head. Lately, as I have been subjected to these unwarranted jaunts between my ears I thought of the times in the past for me that imagination has become uncomfortably independent and just done as it pleased. You may think I am being overly dramatic for the sake of literary effect but I assure you I am not. I think by the time I am done here, you might be able to recall an occasion or two yourself where the pictures your head could paint might hang in a museum to which you would not care to give your patronage.

If you’re skeptical I can start with an easy one. Who among us was not at one point, if not still, afraid of the dark?  And we all know it isn’t the mere absence of light that bothers us. It is what has the potential to be in those places that we cannot see. Really, come to think of it, fear of the dark is almost completely based in imagination. Even in a familiar place, say a bedroom for instance, the mind’s eye can conjure up all sorts of uncertainties at best and horrors at worst simply if the physical eye cannot see.  It’s really outrageous to think that with the only change being a bulb no longer burning suddenly our brain feels the liberty to fill what should be a sanctuary with all manner of unpleasantness!  I am legitimately growing angry with my brain for doing this!  Would fear of the dark even exist anymore if we could simply get a leash on our imaginations?  But, then again, Heaven knows it isn’t the first time my brain has not done what I want.

What got me thinking about this was a power outage from summer thunderstorms.  I cannot sleep in the dark or in silence.  Well, I can, but it is a lengthy process to accomplish and even then it doesn’t stick very well. When I sleep I prefer to have some minimal lighting and some sort of noise. I am not picky about the format of either.  I know some find this sacrilege and simply must have darkness and quiet to sleep. No. Not I.  If I have thick blackness before my eyes and nothing to fill my ears that is asking for trouble. Other than the lack of air conditioning when it happens in the summer, this is why I loathe power outages. If I have to sleep in silence and darkness we have a problem. In silence every little sound of a house creaking or popping, the faint but disconcertingly distinct note of cat paws across the floor or even the ice maker in the fridge dropping cubes all become something else altogether. My mind cannot seem to make allowances for generic sounds of existence.  Every sound has to be something malevolent. Which also makes me wonder why the brain can’t come up with some lovely scenario to unfold. Oh, there is a sound! Perhaps it is a magical fairy come to leave me a sparkling gift of some sort! No, that is never the mental picture that is painted.  The artist in my head is clearly either not aware of or does not care about my preferred taste in mental art.

One of the worst cases of imagination gone wild for me was probably somewhat legitimately based though.  It was some maybe 18 years ago or so I believe. I lived alone in a place that was a bit secluded. I had neighbors but both they and I were in a location that made our homes less than visible to the passer by. While this was lovely for privacy reasons it apparently, along with my pretty predictable schedule, made my place a bit of a target for ne’er do wells.  One evening after being gone for no more than an hour and a half I return home to find my home had been broken into. I had been burgled as some British folks like to say, and it is a fun word so I shall use it here as well.   It was disturbing enough to know that I had only been gone briefly and someone had come in my home and taken my stuff.  But then, my imagination decided to chime in. In an image as clear as day, I could see a masked intruder all in black, peek around the corner of a back bedroom making horrifying eye contact with me. My mind had just decided to insist that I visualize the terrifying idea that this person still in my house. I hadn’t been scared up until that moment that the old artist in my head put brush to canvas. I was only angry with my things being gone but then I got to add fear to the mix.  Sure, I guess it wasn’t a completely unreasonable route to take but I still find it rude, if not mean spirited of my head.  As a matter of fact it was so traumatizing that for months afterwards I could not sleep if it were dark. It was as though my body had turned a switch and I would absolutely not get the slightest bit drowsy until dawn was peeking over the horizon. I would say resetting my internal clock is pretty significant for the creative branch of my brain.

Now I sit here and wonder why I felt like sharing the misadventures of my creativity.  It has gotten me in trouble in school and even sometimes frustrated me at work with daydreaming. It has plagued me with worry of the worst case scenarios for my entire life.  But, let me end this on a high note. It also never lets me be bored. You can put me in an empty room and that’s ok (obviously assuming it isn’t dark).  I don’t need something to entertain me. I have entire galaxies of ideas up there that can easily do that.  And of course, if the time comes I sit in front of a keyboard and want to tell a story for the most part I can simply open the mental files and pull enough to do the job. That is a very fulfilling thing.  I guess my imagination is something like a cat.  It does what it wants, when it wants on its own terms.  But on occasion it will come, snuggle against you and be the best of friends. And most assuredly, neither respond well to a leash.