Delusions of Grandeur

(via BedandBreakfast.com)

I don’t think I mean what you think I mean. You probably immediately thought of Nero, Louis XIV, Marie Antionette, people from history who considered themselves fantastic when they were simply wealthy and enabled.

I don’t mean those people.

One of the quickest ways to shut down your creativity is to attempt to prove someone else wrong by being superhuman and amazing. You drive away from your high school 10-year reunion muttering, “Just wait until we meet again. I’m going to be thin and gorgeous and have the most expensive bag and the most amazing shoes.”Or “Wow, I want to make my coworker look like a fool. I’m going to work harder, be smarter, and beat him at his own game.” Or “I am so tired of losing the ‘most beautiful house’ contest. I’m going to spend any amount of money, so the next time Junior League meets at my house, they’ll all be gnawing on their fingernails at my taste.”

If you find yourself thinking stuff like this, you’re throwing your creativity in the trash. This is not creativity. This is I’m-not-good-enough-so-I-have-to-prop-myself-up-with-worthless-crap behavior. This is looking at other people for how to live a creative life when you should really be looking at yourself: how does this feel to me? Am I happy trying to keep up with these people? Am I happy buying overpriced things just to feel better?

I’m not knocking luxury. There is something to be said for buying a few pints of raspberries even at their most expensive time of year, just to savor them. There is something to be said for a new pair of shoes that cost, oh, more than you would ever wear them, but they make you smile, they make you gleeful. They don’t make you think you’re going to knock your competition out of the water.

That is dead end behavior. If you’re trying to prove yourself to others by being like others, oh honey-child, give. It. Up. Already.

It’s pointless. It’s a waste of time. You are worth more. You can do more. You are sabatoging yourself with delusions of grandeur.

Grandeur isn’t proving yourself better than others. Grandeur is proving yourself sacred. Proving yourself worthy. Standing in the sunshine in the middle of a lawn, listening to sprinklers and being so stinking happy, even with your hair in a knotted mess, your pajamas disheveled, and your hot chocolate moustache still on your upper lip. And you are delighted with life and with what you’ve already got. That’s grandeur. That’s creativity. That’s real.

That was me this morning. It was a terrible morning. I had a line of calls from too early (before I’ve made sense of what’s what) and things weren’t going well. Hubby left me to turn off the sprinklers as he dashed out the door to work. The piles of unsorted mail collapsed in my office. I had Fritos crumbs on the floor, the dryer was buzzing, and it was still Thursday. Hectic Thursday. I finally realized I had left the water running too long because the lawn care guy showed up and knocked on the sliding glass door in confusion. Right. How can they spray for moss when it’s wet? So I dash outside to turn off the water and before I get there, the sound of the sprinklers and the sunshine and the green grass stop me in my tracks and I realize.

Me on conference calls all talky-talky about what I know and how I can teach it isn’t THAT cool. Especially in light of a gorgeous green lawn, brilliant sunshine against a dazzling blue sky, and the sound of water in the sprinklers. (To me, that’s summer. I love the sound of sprinklers.) And suddenly I was in the presence of my Creator, standing as a Created in the midst of a Creation. And all my delusions fell away.

I had to ask myself yet again: what’s the point of all this, Trish? Are you sure this makes you happy? And I got my head back on right out in the middle of that soggy lawn, one flannel pj pant leg dragging through the overgrown grass. I saw myself in the reflection of the sliding glass door. I won’t win any beauty contests. I probably wouldn’t book any speaking engagements had anyone seen me at that moment. But the grin on my face (hot chocolate moustache and all) was nothing close to a delusion of grandeur. It was a simple joy in creativity. I decided I do like what I am doing. I do like the work, I feel creative and energized, not trying to keep up with anyone else.

We’ve got a pact, you see–me and the Creator. Because the Creator does their job, all I have to do is mine; I don’t have to even try to be amazing.

I already am.

Action Step: Don’t scare your lawn guy this morning like I did, but do you have any delusions you need to toss into the garbage today? That’s right, just toss ‘em out. You don’t need to prove anything. Life’s too short.

Tagged as: creativity