The world’s saturated with creators–do we need one more? And if we’re not famous, forget about it, unless you have one million followers on TikTok. Then, by all means, open up your fashion line or singing career, or write that book.

We all want to be seen and heard. Somehow, as crazy as it sounds, we shove that desire inside and try to forget about it.

But we’re very supportive of our kids, whether it be arts or sports or somewhere in between. Whatever they want to do. The sky’s the limit until they get old enough when they need to start thinking about the real world.

“This was but a dream. What will you do to make a living now, Sonny-boy?”

Growing up, I always felt sorry for the kids with such raw, natural talent. Who would they be if they couldn’t be that one-n-a-million person who made it doing what they loved?

Come to think of it, my Grandpa didn’t want my Dad to go into basketball–it couldn’t provide a decent living. That was everyday talk back then, as it still is today. Amidst all this creativity, let’s be practical, please.

And there’s the flip side of all of this; what about those of us who are just God-awful?

Case in point, American Idol; we used to love to watch the screw-ups. Did these people think they could sing? Secretly we always hoped it was just a gimmick to get on TV.

So I knew the rules: leave the creativity to the kids. Support them while they pursue their moments of glory.

For the fulfillment of every creative moment brings its ecstasy. This incredible feeling that we are all in this life together. There’s nothing like it when it happens.

Bringing the girls into the world was the most creative expression of love Alex and I will ever do in this lifetime. But I can’t rest on my laurels. I can’t be the mother of two great kids forever. My time with my girls living under my roof is finite.

I had to take things into my own hands and do something creative again.

So, creative act #1: Piggyback on the kids’ creativity (without any of the lessons or hours of practice and dedication they had put into it), and be in Mamma Mia!

I loved that show. If anyone should be doing it, I should be. Only, what a steep learning curve, and I forgot about the embarrassment. It was horrifying to show up at rehearsals, put myself out there, and be such an American Idol screw up.

Self-expression is tedious and scary, and there’s nothing worse than making a fool of yourself.

Enter creative act #2: I started my blog. I’d be in Twelfth Night, the musical, and write about my experience of being a trifecta loser (you know, someone who can’t act, sing or dance.) In other words, I’m a running SNL skit without being intentionally funny.

But writing brought up much the same terror as being on stage. Why do I have to do this self-expression thing again? Oh right, because the kids are leaving soon, and I’ll have nothing in the creative works to show for myself.

I’d freak out with my hand hovering over the publish button. “Are you sure it’s okay? Are you really sure I’m not making a fool of myself?”

And then came creative act #3: I auditioned for Twelfth Night, the musical. (It’s not like I had a choice, I had nothing else to blog about.)

Plus, I was on such a high from Mamma Mia! I couldn’t resist. And since no one had ever heard of this musical before, including me, there would be hours upon hours of work to learn the songs.

And I did the best I could under the grave disadvantage I had going against me until we were two weeks away from showtime, and lockdown hit instead. (At least I could postpone worrying about making a fool of myself.)

Then came creative act #4: I got cancer, and I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, not even to myself. Creativity and me, we were besties. In my mind, I won awards for how I cracked myself up throughout the process.

But all good things, including reveling in the right brain world of cancer, must end. Without cancer, I started caring what other people thought of me again. Mainly, is anyone even reading this muse? Or horror, am I just talking to myself in the name of self-expression?

Lucky for me, there’s creative act #5: This fall, I was grandfathered into Twelfth Night; I didn’t even have to re-audition for the ensemble.

And with months of practice already under my belt, it couldn’t be nearly as bad the second time around. Could it?

The jury is still out on this one. I’ll let you know how things go when the show’s over in a few weeks. There are days this self-expression thing feels like a wash.

But someone in the cast, his family member, died, and it hit us all hard. We’re in this show together with only two weeks to opening night. Yet, the show must go on.

He wrote to us on our private Facebook page to do something you’ve always wanted to do, but you’re not sure you could accomplish, whether big or small.

What a great idea! And come to think of it, we’ve lost a lot of great souls lately. We need to keep living in their honor.

But what better way to live than to use our creativity. As long as we still have life in us and around us, let’s express ourselves–let’s be seen and heard while we still can.

Yes, I need a lot of help where self-expression is concerned. I still prefer to be behind the super tall girl in the back row on a stage.

Or do I? I’ve had a lifetime of practice to hide from my creativity, but come this weekend, I’ll have five random acts of self-expression to remind me to live the life I’ve got.

Let’s all dedicate our lives to the great souls we’ve lost along our life journey.