What does it feel to do something I love?

Sometimes it feels like music. Like a composition that flows from one note to the next, perfectly aligned, beautiful voices, and I am the conductor. I stand waving my hands in creative exuberance and I listen to the music.

It feels like the inside of a blanket on a rainy day. Outside would be man vs nature, holding my own against the elements. A place I wasn’t made for, but then there’s safety from the storm inside, and I am by myself, but not alone. It feels like a breath of fresh air, my head bobs up from the water and I draw in as much air as I can, the pressure is gone.

It feels natural, walking in my own flow, working with things I know. It feels like the warmth of the sun. It feels like nakedness, standing bare in all that is me, unashamed. As natural as the blood that flows in my veins, it feels like life.

Sometimes it feels like noise. Like the clanging of kitchen pans, disoriented from one note to the next, adulterated, confusing sheets, and I am the conductor. I stand waving my hands in unbridled anxiety and I listen to the noise.

It feels like standing without shade on a rainy day. I struggle as a man vs nature, holding my own against the elements. A place I wasn’t made for, there’s no safety from the storm anywhere, and I am by myself, and I am alone. It feels like the first gulp of water, my head becoming too heavy to lift over the surface of the water and I expel as much air as is forced out of me, the pressure is heavy.

It feels unnatural, walking against my own flow, working with things I thought I’d know. It feels like the scorching heat of the sun. It feels like nakedness, standing bare in all that is me, ashamed. As natural as the blood that flows out of my veins, it feels like life.

And it is the same feeling, because love is more than how I feel. I love writing – even when I’m plagued with writer’s block. I love being creative, even when I don’t feel creative. Even when I try my hardest and the page is still empty, the canvas blank.

To do something I love, feels like a lot of things, and all of those things are real, but none of those things are real. To do something I love, feels like both the music and the noise.