So I’ve been writing this series of posts for my other blog, and I suddenly realized I hated it.

It was sooooo boring.

It was heavy and sleepy and it gave me unwelcome thoughts about purchasing an all-black wardrobe and taking up self mutilation.

Something’s Rotten in that Remark

I couldn’t figure out what was wrong, but then I saw a random tweet on Twitter, one wishing me and everyone else a day filled with “simple, happy thoughts of joy”. Then I think I threw up a little.

I’m just being honest here. The first word that came to mind when I read that was bullshit.

I’m sure the person who posted it is a lovely person. And the sentiments behind it were probably genuine, but it just smacked of bullshit.

First of all, would thoughts of joy ever be unhappy? Would they be any less joyful if they were complex?

And who really talks like that? What ever happened to hello and have a nice day? Those two have worked pretty well for me and lots of others for years.

Is It Really All About Presentation?

It just seemed like something you would say if you were trying to present a persona, one that’s in touch with nature and wholesome and filled with rays of light – you know – bullshit.

And that, I realized, was what I was doing with the series I was writing. It’s what I’ve been guilty of here from time to time and post to post. It’s what I was trying to break away from when I started the new blog.

Yes, I’m mildly creative. Yes, I’m reflective and contemplative and spend time in quiet solitude. I have to, or else I’d go mad.

But I’m also a guy who watches South Park, one of the most politically incorrect and unapologetically juvenile programs to ever grace a TV screen. And I laugh my silly butt off.

And sometimes I listen to heavy metal and bang my grey-haired head like I’ve forgotten I’m over forty.

If someone farted, I’d probably giggle. Sometimes I’ve got no class.

I’m Still a Good Guy, Right?

But none of that means I don’t care about people or that I’m any less serious about helping them. It just means I am who I am.

In my time, I’ve read a lot of self help books, and two things I often find missing are a sense of humor and a human touch. Too bad when you consider who they’re written for.

I Need to Clean This Crap Up

So, to make a long story short (Too late?), I went back and rewrote every piece in that series.

I took out the bullshit and put me in its place. It still isn’t perfect; it’s never going to be, but at least it doesn’t sound like I’m trying to be somebody I know I’m not – a simple, happy robot.

So what’s the moral of the story? And I thought you read the title. If your writing bores you, cut the bullshit.

Just in case you’re interested, here are the links:

Adventure Guide: Part 1 – Guilt Free Creativity

Adventure Guide: Part 2 – Shame Free Curiosity

Adventure Guide: Part 3 – Direction Free Exploration

Feel free to tell me what you think, and you don’t have to feed me bullshit.

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I have inner wisdom and so do you. This, I’m sad to say, is a relatively new insight for me.

On the Outside Never Looking In

In the past, when I felt out of sorts, I looked outside myself for answers. I never looked within. It was such a mess in there. All that chaos and confusion, a swirling sea of emotions, waves of wild ideas, and the debris of broken wishes.

I didn’t realize there was something underneath. Something quiet. Something calm. Something I could reach for and grab onto and steady myself with.

Things Get Quiet

When I began this blog, I did so, in part, because I’d discovered for myself the benefits of calming down in order to create something. I thought others might benefit as well.

The premise is pretty simple. It’s easier to be creative when you’re not freaking yourself out. Two-hundred-and-seventy posts can attest to that fact.

Before I calmed down, I wrote very little. I thought about it, talked about it, and sometimes cried about it, but I seldom ever did anything about it.

Lucky for me, I began to change. I started slowing down. I started breathing in and breathing out. I started calming down, and sitting down, and writing.

Derailing and Getting Back on Track

But every now and then, I’d jump back up. I’d pace, I’d stew, I’d tug at my hair. I’d go through spells of doing things the old way, which meant not doing them at all.

Then I’d remember, and I’d calm back down again. I’ve done this many times and I think I’m getting better at it.

Now here’s where the wisdom thing comes in.

An Unexpected Visitor

You see, initially I was only calming down in order to write and create, but it’s gradually became much more than that. I’d never been that quiet before. I’d simply never allowed it.

I think that’s why I kept jumping up from time to time. In the midst of all that quiet, I was starting to hear myself and I wasn’t used to listening. I guess it made me nervous.

But I kept coming back because I wanted to write, and each time I came back I got a little quieter, stayed a little longer, heard a little more. Eventually, I started listening.

And there it was: my wisdom. In fact, it’s here right now and I know it will be here tomorrow when I wake up. It’s been here all along, just waiting, wondering if I’d ever notice. It will be here until I breathe my last breath. It will never abandon me, and, now that I know that, I must remember to never abandon it.

Someone’s Waiting for You to Listen

You have wisdom, too. I know this because I know I’m simply human. I haven’t been granted a special power that no one else has access to. I haven’t received a revelation. I’ve been granted no divine authority.

I’m just a guy who got quiet because he wanted to write and somewhere in the midst of the silence discovered he had something more than words: a friend, a guide, a companion – his wisdom.

Please do yourself a favor. At some point in the midst of all the hustle and bustle, pause for one curious moment and ask yourself, “What’s waiting for me in the silence?” Then go there and find out.

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I don’t think there’s any way I could kill this blog and be at peace with it. It’s somehow become a part of me.

The first blog I ever created that actually went somewhere was KenandPaper.com, a little experiment that lead to the creation of this one.

I felt guilty when I slowly stepped away from it, which is probably why I’ve hung onto it and tried a time or two or three to resurrect it. Now, I’m ready to let go.

I’m ready because this blog, I now realize, has replaced that one in my heart. It’s done so because it’s personal, more personal I suspect than I’ve really allowed it to be, which is something I hope to change in the days ahead.

And, as you may or may not know, I’ve created a new blog, KenGRobert.com, Adventures in Being Human. The whole idea behind the new blog is to free myself to write about a broader range of topics because I think there’s more to being human than just being creative, and I’m interested in all of it.

Also, if it’s possible, I’d like to create a business some day, one in which I write, speak, and possibly even do some coaching. I believe KenGRobert.com will better enable me to do that.

But I’m still a mildly creative guy, a confessed non-expert trying to find ways to lead a life of quiet inspiration. Drawing pictures, writing poems, engaging with books and art and music are some of the ways I do that, some of the ways I feel a need to do that.

And thus I need a place to do that without apology, without concern for Google rankings, feed stats, or even the approval, I’m sorry to say, of those who stop and visit. This is that place.

I’m going to put my pictures here, my poems here, my feelings here, and so on. This is where I share what’s in my heart. The new blog will be where I share what’s on my mind. Of course, the two things will overlap, which is just the way it ought to be.

I apologize to those of you who’ve tried to follow me only to find that I’m traveling in circles and figure eights, and to dead ends and back again, but that’s just the way such journeys go. A straight path would only bore me, anyway.

So, as the title of this post announced, this blog is about to get personal – well, more personal. I hope you don’t mind.

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Hey, I’ve moved. Didn’t anyone tell you?

No? Oh well. It must have got lost in the mail.

Look, it’s really very simple. You just click the link below, read the new post, check out the cool logo someone made me (I’ll be writing about that in the week ahead), and, of course, subscribe to the new blog.

New Blog: KenGRobert.com – Adventures in Being Human

New Post: What Matters Only Needs One Vote

Subscribe to the posts at the new blog by RSS feed or by Email.

To help you make the transition to my new blog, for a time I’ll be posting posts that are really just links to my latest posts at KenGRobert.com. I hope you don’t mind.

Here’s the latest: Why Failure is a Viable Option

I’m about to do something scary and perhaps rather foolish, but I just feel the need to do it. I’m about to begin a new blog.

Mildly Creative has been a godsend, but it’s also been a bit of a curse because I constantly find myself wondering if the things that I’m thinking about, reading about, and writing about have anything to do with this niche.

You hear a lot about niches, how you’re supposed to find one, cling to it, and run with it.

I know it’s solid advice, but I’ve never been very good at following it, and, just to be honest, I’m tired of trying.

Maybe it’s because it took me forty years to permit myself to write about anything. To now turn around and place restrictions on the things I can write about sounds way too painful to me.

Furthermore, I don’t always feel mildly creative. Sometimes I feel incredibly curious. Sometimes I feel wildly opinionated. Sometimes I feel terribly confused.

And I want to allow myself to be all those things and more. As Karla McLaren points out in her book, The Language of Emotions, the goal in life isn’t to be perfect; it’s to be whole.

So maybe that’s where I’m heading. Maybe I’m on my way to becoming whole, even as a writer. Heck, that might even be my niche.

Learning to be mildly creative has certainly been a part of my journey (and I hope a part of yours), and I know it will continue to do so. But it’s only one part, one chapter if you will. It’s not the entire book.

I want to explore those other chapters, and I believe I’m ready to do so.

I feel good about this new direction. I’ve discussed it with my most trusted advisor, Carol Ann Robert, and she’s more than on board; she’s relieved.

Here’s Carol in her own words: “I love Mildly Creative, but I’ve always felt that there’s a whole other side of you that no one ever sees. I think if you really want to be successful, you have to lay it all on the line and be everything you are, not just one part of you.”

I think you can now see why I’m totally in love with that woman.

So let’s cut to the quick. What does this all mean?

Well, as I said, the concept of being Mildly Creative will continue to be a part of me and thus part of what I think about, talk about, and write about.

It will definitely be a category on my new blog, and with over 250 posts on this blog, I think I have enough material to tinker with and turn into a book, a workshop, and who knows what else.

Also, my new blog will have the same look and feel. I’ll still be drawing pictures and writing captions. I’ll just have more to draw and write about.

The change won’t be instant, but I also don’t intend to drag it out. I’ll move as quickly as I can, as calmly as I can.

Someone once told me that Mildly Creative was my brand. It was incredibly good advice at the time, but now my brand is me.

That’s not an easy thing to say. It raises a lot of ghosts. Who do I think I am anyway? Well, that’s what I hope to find out, and I’d rather be haunted than half of me.

When I make the move, I hope you’ll follow me. If you do, I hope to give you lots of things to think about and talk about and even put to use. And, last but not least, I hope to give you a reason to come back.

Only time will tell. Like I said, I may be doing something foolish, but I’d rather be foolish than fearful.

Fear is. The sooner we learn that, the better.

Sometimes it looms and sometimes it lurks, but it’s always around, and that’s really not such a bad thing.

Fear, after all, keeps us from blindly driving off the cliff, running into the fire, and diving headfirst into the pool of crocodiles. It’s there for a reason.

The only trouble with fear is that it’s not always reasonable. It can’t distinguish a good risk from a bad one. Its only cry is danger. It knows nothing of rewards.

That’s why it sometimes tries to protect us from the things we most desire. It stands guard at the door to our dreams, telling us how foolish we would be to enter.

“You’re not ready for this,” it warns us, “You’re in over your head.”

And so it keeps us from trying. “You’re just going to get hurt.” it tells us.

It keeps us from participating. “You won’t be welcome there. They’ll eat you alive.”

It keeps us from expanding. “Stick to what you know. Stay within your niche. Don’t stray out. It’s so much safer here.”

If we listen, do what fear tells us to do, and avoid what it tells us not to, then, for a time, we do feel safe. We avoid danger.

But we also avoid challenge and we miss out on growth and we get stuck in the mire of what could have been and feel as if we’re half the person we want to be.

Fear once told me to give up on writing. “It’s a pipe dream,” it told me, “You’ll write and you’ll write and no one will care. No one will read it, and you’ll never earn a dime.”

But my fear didn’t know what desire suspected, namely that writing could be a way to help me clarify my interests, discover what I felt, find out what I thought, and make a little sense of the world.

Desire was right, and fear, as it turns out, has only been one for three thus far. There are people who do care and people who do read what I write and I even have reason to believe that one day I will earn that dime.

To find all that out, I had to move fearward.

Ignoring it didn’t work. It only grew louder.

Running away didn’t work. It chased after me.

I had to acknowledge it, approach it, feel it, and move past it.

And approaching it is not the same as charging it. It did me no good to pull back my shoulders, puff out my chest, and draw my sword. Fear can be a tenacious fighter.

Instead, I had to act like an adult, something I haven’t always been good at, something I’m still learning to do even at the age of 43.

I had to stay calm but remain resolute. “Sorry, fear,” I had to say, “I appreciate your concern, but this is something I’m going to do.” And then I had to do it.

When you behave like that, fear has no option but to get out of your way and let you through the door.

There is, however, one thing you must know. Fear is always one door down. “I let you slip through that one,” it seems to be fond of saying, “but I’ll be damned if you’re getting through this one.”

Your job and my job is to keep moving towards it, forward, fearword, and, when it’s prudent, to go ahead and let it be damned.

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It’s late, and I just had a long talk with my daughter, but not the kind of long talk I used to have with her, the kind in which I tried to impart some chunk of wisdom or correct some errant deed.

This was a two-way talk, a conversation, an enjoyable, free exchange between two adults and it didn’t seem to matter that I was the parent and she was the child, because the truth is she’s not a child anymore. I’m still her father, she’s still my daughter, but so much else has changed.

She’s not the girl I raised and I’m not the man who raised her, and that, I’ve learned, is a good thing. If we were still those things, our relationship would be a frozen one. But it’s not that. Instead, it’s flowing, and I’m learning to go with the current.

Some time ago, I did what all healthy parents must eventually do. I let go. I released my grip on her hand in my heart, but kept my arms wide open.

It was scary, but it’s been rewarding. One day I let go of a child, and another day an adult came back to visit me.

Tonight, we talked openly about beliefs and wishes and questions we have, things I don’t always feel free to discuss with some people. I’m glad I can do so with her and doubly glad she feels free to do so with me.

Looking back, I think I did a lot of things wrong. But tonight, I get the sense I did a few things right, and I hope to do more in the future.

Every day, you attempt to fight the resistance, to show up, do the work, and overcome. But what are you trying to overcome? Have you defined it? Do you know what you’re up against?

If you knew, you might be surprised to discover that you really don’t want to fight it and that you really don’t have to. Giving in could be just what you need to get on with things.

For instance, you may think you have a resistance to writing, a fairly serious problem if you have a desire to write. But a closer look could reveal something far less problematic.

Instead of resisting writing, you might find you’re resisting writing in a certain location, at a certain time of day, or for an undefined amount of time.

If you knew this, you could do something about it. You could change your location, adapt your schedule, or get very clear about how long you intend to write. In other words, you could give in.

Resistance isn’t always a sign of some character defect. Sometimes it’s a cry to be heard.

It’s as if your soul is saying, “Hey! I have a stake in this matter. There are things that I like, things that I don’t, and both these things deserve consideration.”

You’re not a machine, though you may be “wired” a certain way. You can’t simply flip the switch and power down your values, desires, and predilections.

You’re made of flesh and blood. You have thoughts and emotions. You have a set of preferences.

Your attempts to ignore this could be the source of your resistance. You’re a human being and an individual. If you’re trying to deny this either consciously or unconsciously, no wonder you’re meeting resistance.

Your resistance could be an instinct and a darned good one, willing to fight the good fight, even if the enemy is you.

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“Infinity tangled into itself. There was no here and now. Only Being.”
Marcelo Gleiser in A Tear at the Edge of Creation

Your Something Daily may not seem like much. In fact, it may seem like nothing at all, but don’t let this alarm you. Despite what you may believe, something can come from nothing. In fact, I think it happens every day.

Bang, You’re Something.

Our Universe, we’re now told, began with a Big Bang, a cosmological pop. Before then, there was no before or then to speak of. Time did not exist, nor did space, and neither did matter for that matter.

It was the Bang that brought about our sense of then and now, before and after, here and there, this and that.

No matter how you try to explain it, you’re left with more questions than answers. Whether you point to a divine Creator or a spontaneous natural force, you’ve done nothing, you’ll admit if you’re honest, to approach anything resembling understanding.

In short, the origin of the Universe remains a mystery.

Grasping for the Ungraspable

It’s tempting to squash the mystery by searching for, grabbing, clinging to, and defending the first explanation we hear or can think of, even if it’s flimsy and improbable, simply for the sake of having one. But I think it’s more honest (and humble) to admit it when you have no explanation at all.

Letting Go of Certainty

Admitting you don’t know something doesn’t mean you cease being curious. It just means you’re willing to acknowledge that your curiosity may never bring you the answers you hope for.

Personally, as a recovering knowaholic, this hasn’t been easy for me. In addition to admitting there are things I don’t understand, I must also accept there are things I never will. I have to embrace uncertainty.

And that’s how it is with creativity. We can study it, talk about it, engage in it, and share the results, but we’ll never fully understand it. It’s an uncertain science, but we practice it, anyway.

The Big Bang of Creativity

Just as the Universe inexplicably popped into existence, the things we create can feel as if they did the same. Once we had nothing, now we have something, and we’re not sure how it happened (or how it will happen again).

Often, as creatives, we have to enter into silence and solitude, a sort of nothingness from which we hope something will emerge.

We go to a quiet place, we take a quiet walk, we seek to quiet our minds. It looks and feels like we’re doing nothing, and we are.

We’re doing nothing and we’re going nowhere, because somewhere deep inside we know that creating something from nothing is not that uncommon. It’s precisely what artists must do.

We may begin with a blank page and end up with a novel. We may enter into silence and come out with a symphony. We may, as the Mary Tyler Moore theme suggests, “take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile.”

This is yet another reason for you to do something daily, to make a habit of walking into nothingness, with no explanations, no deep understanding, and allow your own Big Bang to occur.

And that, my friend, is really something.

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