Long ago when I was younger, I wrote furiously and frequently. I couldn’t express my emotions fully at home. As a teenager, at home and visibly, I was always very sad, angry, depressed, or upset about the unfairness of life for Black girls.
Though, in the shadows, in the quiet moments, I was curious, inspired, beguiled, creative, yearning for love, brilliant, a deep thinker, and parts of me held unadulterated joy.
So much joy that I would write bad poetry for hours. I would write love letters to my friends. I would write these lengthy love letters to my crushes in high school who didn’t even know I existed. I would just write. It was the only time I felt human and whole.
And that’s what inspiration does to you, it ignites you even if you are knee deep in a dark existence. It sets you on fire and that fire causes you to create. Not saying you will be the next Toni Morrison, but it stirs something in your soul.
Sometimes you are so inspired you just want to tell the world. You just want to clasp your chest, unzip your flesh from your neck to your waist and let all the light, all the love, all the joy – FLOOD OUT. A moment of internal nirvana.
… but the darkside of being inspired is that you are vulnerable. It’s like letting down a force field around your soul. Sometimes it puts you in a place of vulnerability so much so that being inspired becomes scary. Like you are being duct taped around your own kryptonite.
And that’s the beauty of inspiration it lights up your soul and in tandem the darkness of your vulnerability can envelope you.
What inspires you?