Writing is something that I have always been passionate about, and have enjoyed the creative process of.

Writing letters to friends in classes that weren’t particularly stimulating, while taking that long ride on that four hour bus ride to and from the Riverland. Or now when I’m up in the air, phone in flight mode, quiet and uncontactable; in that big metal bird flying across states.

Scratching down notes in the morning in a journal, splashing instant coffee from the steaming cup I’m using to prop myself up for the day. Or writing through the night, in a way that felt like pacing through memories or experiences, trying to figure things out or to remember, room illuminated by soft warm lights.

In shredded exercise books, that soft a4 book, with comforting blue lines guiding the words through the pages. Littered with cheeky words to friends, doodles of flowers, hearts and diamonds. Working through creative developments, using giant spaces, halls, classrooms, with paper everywhere like giant oversized pieces of confetti. To eventually build narratives for scripts, playing together to create theatre, boldly and fearless.

Feeling that pure glow that comes from feeling proud of just making something.

All without the learnt habit of being incredulously harsh on yourself with that internal monologue. Sans the value judgements of ‘is this really cringey?’. ‘everything i make is awful so why bother’. ‘i won’t be able to look back and be embarrassed by this, because I’m embarrassed right now, and no one should ever look at this ever again’.

Looking back, there is so much comfort in that nostalgia in being creative and collaborating. Unapologetically inspired by other people, so beautifully earnest and forthcoming about that. And i really, really miss that.

Most of what I have been writing recently are essays, journals, social media posts, zines that i write on my phone and share with no one. Or performance poetry that is shared in small rooms, with so much safety in that. But I want to again, step outside my comfort zones and back into the arena of vulnerability (any Brene Brown fans out there?).

Its so refreshing to make something, with no real idea of what exactly its going to be beforehand, and then deeming it good enough to be shared, in that raw vulnerable state. Or to reject completely that scale of what ‘good enough’ is, or to completely protest ‘good enough’ by creating and intentionally sharing things that would not be seen as ‘good enough’. Over edited, under edited, experimental, raw, mistakes, spelling errors, and grammatically incorrect. And all of the political discourse is likely there, to show that ‘good enough’ is a ableist construct upheld by other, or internalised and self policed.

Its so wonderful to embrace being a rookie and being imperfect, and understanding that its totally ok to enjoy the learning curve of cultivating your own craft. Especially when instantaneous success is so unnatural. To be good at something thats practise, so it makes sense that being brave, also needs practise. Its such a disservice to yourself to not allow yourself self expression, due to real or imagined critical voices who’s interests are tearing you down.

We are all worthy of making our own creative safe spaces, where we can be seen, to allow ourselves, our lives and our work to be witnessed.

So here we are again. Lets go.

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