If you haven’t seen the 2015 film The VVitch, you might not understand the reference of this post’s title. If you have, I’m sure you get it.
Imagine now, it’s nighttime, dark as pitch outside, and a dark figure comes up behind you— the devil in the form of Black Phillip the goat—and, whispering, offers you the chance to live your life how you want. Creatively.
“Wouldst though like to live creatively…“
I know the price is probably my soul or something. But isn’t that what we pay anyway for the price of living the way we choose? We spend most of our weekdays (and sometimes even weekends) working to make money so that some imagined day sometime in the unknown future we won’t have to work⎯at least for a little while. Certainly that should count as some sort of soul-selling. The reward is this vague notion of some far off time that’s ours.
But, what if I want my time to be mine now?
You may gasp. You may say, “that’s just not how it’s done.” This strange and wonderful and somewhat radical idea only sounds radical because we’ve blindly accepted the horribly flawed logic of capitalism. But, I digress, that’s a different rant for a different time.
The point is: I want to spend my time living a meaningful creative life that’s not constricted by a day job (though, to be honest I have a pretty good one). To spend my time writing and painting and expressing myself and living life to the fullest through creativity is my absolute dream.
But what is the price for this life? What devil do I need to speak to about changing the contract of my existence?
Do I have the strength and the gumption to take the plunge? Because that’s what it would take. A drastic decision to make my life the way I want it, without the fear of failure holding me back.
Isn’t that the big bad word? The dreaded end to all?
But is the risk worth the potential rewards? The answer should be a resounding yes. Bravery would dictate that the risk and potential failure aren’t worth losing out on what could be achieved.
Is that what I’m doing by not embracing my calling? It’s calling very loud. It gets louder every day.
But, “real” life is loud too. And life dictates money is the end game. Our mercenary existences are dependant on productivity and our ability to make an income. What’s worse is that society has decided art and writing aren’t worth much–despite the fact that art (all kinds) makes up our entire culture.
So where’s the balance? How do I convince people that my ideas and my creative spirit are worth something?
If I ever find the answer to these questions. I’ll let you know. For now, I continue to pour my heart onto the page.