Value and creativity

Morning darklings,

The hubs and I were discussing value recently.

How many of my newsletters to you all begin with conversations I recently had or a book I read? It seems with every passing day, I’m more interested in reflection—not rumination. Just thinking back on what I learned or saw or consumed and seeing if I missed anything. Could I take more from it today? Maybe I’ll think about it again next year, reconsider then as well.

Anyhow, we were chatting inherent value (or value to yourself) vs value to others. Do we matter on our own? Is a diamond worth anything without humans saying so?

The hubs told me how he saw his gardening as bringing value to himself through pride and accomplishment and a sense of nurturing living things, just as it gives him external value to feed me and the wildlife and give us a beautiful backyard that smells amazing.

Put that way, I saw my creativity as a value to both me and others. I knew compassion was a value I brought to the table for others. Myself? Not always.

Creativity, though. I thought about how many things I’ve made or written or designed that have been just for me. There are crafts I made that got shoved in the closet before I remembered to show them to the hubs because we were having a busy day. Many stories have been written to live on my computer for sometime later or never, but since they’ve not been edited, I haven’t shown them to anyone. And oh, the number of ideas I’ve jotted down, done nothing with, but the entire story lives in my head… countless.

I never thought about them as bringing value to me. Just bringing me joy. Sometimes, I’d consider them bringing value to others, making them happy or thrilled or feel seen or spend a few hours escaped from reality. Still, value to me wasn’t the phrasing I thought of.

I’m grateful the hubs worded it like that way. Feeling worthy and having value are two of the things I struggle with most mentally.

Many of my demons are tucked in labeled boxes with open tops, available to be triggered, available if I need them, just available, but not out, not in the forefront, not sitting on my bed or holding my hand as I walk around my neighborhood.

Being unworthy of anything good, however, that bitch is crushing my favorite chair in the back room, her third cocktail in hand, and not even thinking about reaching for her keys.

Seeing my brain as valuable is like her sobering up and heading towards the front door.

I’m not delusional. I doubt it will mean she’ll make it out of the house and to her car every time. I’ll take 50%.

Until next time, harness the Little darknesses and embrace the Little things.