My Muse She Left Me

My Muse, She Left Me

In Entrepreneurship + BYOB, Feminism + Motherhood by Gloria Roheim McRaeLeave a Comment

The creative cost of ignoring her message.

She showed up unexpected again. No knock, no warning, no reply to my earlier invitation. That’s not how she rolls. On demand that is.

But when she does arrive, she covers me whole with the warmth of a blanket. I’m connected. I’m loved, nurtured and supported. Nothing is more comforting than knowing when she’s here.

The thing about her visits though, is that they are always unannounced. She’s so enchanting; distracting and alluring; and most often frustratingly inconvenient for my full schedule.

I don’t tend to have the time I want for her these days. I do schedule time for her, but she doesn’t always show. I’m trying to make a discipline of our time together because she has a way of distracting me from my focus when she does show. Almost always unexpectedly.

Muse, she arrives when I am squeezed between a looming deadline and an upcoming payment. Her visits like the irresistible scent of fresh baked cookies that I so enjoy, however bad they are for me; these are the kind of cookies that I can’t stop eating until my tummy hurts. The sugary drug penetrates my every cell. Quenching. Muse is like that too.

And while she circles me like a wiff of perfume, she flirts for attention. I want to stop everything for her. Do I ever. But instead, I tell her to wait for me where she is until I’m finished what I’m doing now. She’s sensitive though you see, so she doesn’t appreciate that much. I beg her still. Rarely, she’ll oblige me.

I get it. Her visits are a privilege and full of purpose. They’re divinely timed even if my amygdala doesn’t agree. She travels to me to play, to create, to express herself. I know that when I indulge her, magic happens and I am fulfilled. Yet, stuck is where I find myself. Between a client’s project or an afternoon meeting. So I scribble. I make sure that she see’s me listening, attending to her whispers and I take notes. Titles of articles are jotted onto paper, a book proposal idea duly captured and an epic event to plan recorded. It will bring just the right people together and spread my fire.

She’s calm for the moments while she waits. I’m downloading her wisdom onto paper, but then I tire. I tell her to wait up while I sleep and promise her that we’ll have breakfast together in the morning. And when I wake, get the tea boiling, the toast toasting, and climb under the blanket on the couch … she’s left already.

She didn’t wait, she wasn’t hungry for breakfast. She craved my full attention when she came for it. Not when I felt like it. She’s gone again and I regret that I put her second. I ask her to return. Silence. I turn up a soft tune, I meditate, a candle is lit. Still nothing. This sacred dance is too familiar. I express a silent nod and my gratitude for whence she came.

My muse. She’s gone. And I don’t know when she’ll be back. But when she is, this time, I promise to pay her the attention she deserves. Her messages are the whole point I realize. The more time we spend together, the more attention I grace her with, the more she’ll show. And the more she does, the better I feel. The better I feel, the more useful I am. The more useful I am, the more loving I am. That’s when my fire burns it’s strongest and my true nature shines. Dear Muse, can’t we work out a more reliable arrangement?

Until next time, my muse is gone. She left me again. Bittersweet heartache and gratitude sets in. I’m glad to know her.

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