This post has no title

There seem to be those among us who were born to create. A beautiful magic flows through their veins while others, perhaps less fortunate, but no less necessary, are pumping everyday hemoglobin.

I have pondered the nature of creativity many times and have often thought that, if there is anything to the idea of a higher power, it lives and is expressed through the creatives; those of us who see a life as a blank canvas and for whom the filling of that canvas with emotion, color, shape and light is the very purpose for being.

I have also pondered the nature of a life lived in which one follows the path lain by the creatives. That one actualizes the thought; transitions the art to function, harnesses the abstract, and breathes life into ideas.

Just about now you are thinking I am over-simplifying, and you are right. Of course, there are no true lines; no clear definitions, no categories under which any one person either fits or doesn’t. Still, we continue to work at forcing definitions on one another. It may not be fair, but it is our way. There is nothing we enjoy more than squeezing a person into a box in which we think they should fit.

If the blogosphere has taught me anything, it is that many of us live everyday with 1 foot in each place. We straddle a line fuzzied by our own whims, responsibilities and frustrations. Sometimes we are artists. And sometimes we live the lives of the pragmatists turning that, which is created by others, into concrete and food.