The things that inspire us are where our dreams first get their spark. Be it a blinding flash of inspiration or a long slow building of ideas, our dreams take form from depths of our passions and loves. This month I will talk about some of the ways I am inspired. Where my stories and ideas come from is not just a single source but from a myriad of different mediums. What inspires you? What makes you dream big, impossible dreams?
When I look back on my life there are two great forces that have shaped who I am and who I constantly draw inspiration from. The first is my faith and the second are my loved ones. From both I draw strength and find hope. They have always been a constant light, sometimes dim but always there, a guide through the darkness. A strength in the turmoil. A hope amist the mess.
It might seem strange for me, a trans woman basically excommunicated from her religion, to say I find inspiration from my faith. After all I spent most of my life believing that being trans and being Christian were simply incompatible with each other. It took nearly losing my faith for me to see the truth. Living authentically, fully alive and not as a shadow of the person God created, is how we are all called to worship. Hiding who I am only fooled those around me. I knew who I was, more importantly the God who made me knew exactly who I was. Who then was I hiding from? Interfacing with my faith, finally as the person I was made to be, opened up the teachings of Christianity in vibrant and life altering ways. I once resisted transitioning because I clung so tightly to my religion, now I cling to my faith as I face a world that often misunderstands the value of each and every life.
Even before I came to this newfound understanding, I found much to draw from within my faith. Within the structures of Christianity we grapple with things unseen, internal, eternal, and ultimately unknowable. Why does evil exist in this world? What could one person do in the face of great tragedy? Are we more than just bits of dust? Is the human heart, once lost, able to be found again? In the mess, is there hope? I often found these issues reflected back at me through my own writing. The heroine versus an ever-present darkness, the tragedy and salvation in everyday life, redemption from the mistakes of the past. All these bits and pieces of my own soul and my own journeys of faith.
The other great constant is the reason why I write. My loved ones, be it family or friends, are who my stories are written for. I can stare up into the sky for days, listen to music for hours, grapple with the unknown, but none of them encourage me and support me like the wonderful people in my life. I remember the first time I handed one of my stories to another person. I was so proud, and so unbelievably nervous. I could hardly believe the words of encouragement that came soon after. Along with that came the feedback. Different views, different life experiences, produced different stories for each of my readers. The things that stuck out, the moments that stayed with them, were all different. It was like a conversation, only deeper than most of us are willing to go.
It’s been ten years since I first wrote my very first story and I haven’t stopped writing. I will always have new ideas, new dreams to chase down. Often times it is through conversations with my loved ones that these stories are given life. I can’t count the number of times a simple coffee date or meeting at the park has resulted in the creation of a new story idea. I have often stated that creating is putting a fragment of our soul on display for the world to see. If each new project is a fragment of me then bound up within them are my hopes, and joys, and pain, and struggles of this life. They also contain moments of delight, laughter among friends, the thrill of new experiences, the quiet beauty of a smile, each one gifted to me by those I love. These stories may have been possible without them, but they would be nowhere as good or vibrant without my friends and family.
More than anything else I believe creating is an act of the highest worship. Be it the dancer, the poet, the singer, or the writer we each put our hearts and souls into our works. Not just once, but over and over and over again we strive to express perfectly what can only be expressed imperfectly through words, melodies and movement. When I write I am entering into a time of communion with myself, my faith and those who will one day read the words I write. Each key stroke, every turn of phrase, directing my gaze upwards, towards mountains yet to climb and towards the Lord who is above it all. I look to the sky and dream big. I use music to shape the characters and stories I tell. Without my faith, without my loved ones there would be no stories to tell. For that gift, I am eternally grateful. Thank you.