Emily of New Moon called it “The Flash,” but that means little to anyone not a fan of L. M. Montgomery.
Inspiration comes in many forms. I create. I create many things, and my inspiration takes many forms. While I would have been hard-pressed to call myself an artist just ten years ago (aren’t artists those fluffy people who float around on the edges of society, creating simply for the sake of creating?), I now realize that that’s exactly what I am. It’s who I am. It’s how I express everything that is within me. It’s the only way I can express what is within me. I may not be a starving artist, living on my creations (my beautiful, wondrous works of art?), but I create from my heart works both for pleasure and for remuneration.
Inspiration comes from an opening yellow daffodil spiking up through the sparkling snow in March. It comes from the cool breeze rustling through my mother’s plants in my healing garden in early spring. It can come from smelling my husband’s barbecue while listening to my children’s shouts in the backyard in the sweltering heat of summer. It can come from the brisk chill of winter, the glitter of icicles dripping from the eaves.
Inspiration comes from Christmas decorations — swathing the stair rail in evergreen garlands, placing baubles on the tree, lighting richly scented candles around the house, playing music reminding me of my childhood Christmases, placing poinsettias everywhere … decorations, decorations galore. And baking, always baking.
Inspiration comes from my heart. I’ve so many memories and aches stored inside. Loving people — damaged, broken people left me hurting and damaged and broken myself, but it left me better able to create beautiful things. It left me more sensitive to other people’s pain and longing. It left me better able to understand hurt and longing. It made me a better person. Inspiration comes from the pain of losing my mom moments after knowing her as an adult. The bitter pain of losing a parent just after you finally learn who they really are is unlike any pain I’d ever known …
Inspiration comes from my children. I’m sure there’s not a parent alive (not a good one, anyway) who doesn’t think their children are inspiring. They are alive, vivid, full of energy and spark. I can’t help but be inspired when I watch them explore and learn and simply be.
Inspiration comes from music. I wanted to be a musician. While I had a certain degree of talent — in that I could carry a tune — my training started too little and too late for me to be able to do much with my abilities. My musical abilities are superficial. I listen to Dvorak and tears spring to my eyes. But it is not merely classical music: I find inspiration in a great many types of music and musical pieces.
I find inspiration in both the beautiful and the ugly. I find inspiration in the lovable and the hurtful. I find inspiration in the sad and the happy. I find inspiration in the hurtful and the pleasurable. I find inspiration in the good and the bad.
I find inspiration in life.