Before my phone dramatically passes away, let me offer a conundrum: If artists everywhere proclaim that love is the answer, why are so many artists alone and unhappy?

One suggestion could be that the only way that artist can find such inspiration is to be subjected to such heartache that they are at once in despair for such an event and overcome with inspiration to continue their art.

I used to think it romantic to hold another as my inspiration. Now, I wouldn’t wish such a thing on my enemies.

The post 5-4-3-2-1 appeared first on Of Psychology and Psychosomatics.

There’s something incredible about waking up in the middle of the woods, on the top of a mountain, surrounded by silence and nature. It’s even more amazing when you can pack your car and be back in Los Angeles in less than two hours. We stayed in the communities surrounding Big Bear Lake, and the raw beauty of the landscape, the mountains ringing the expansive lake, and the properties along the coast and dotted upwards along the dirt trails.

I was inspired to spend more of my time outside, breathing good air and making my body sore and tired. I was inspired by the cabin, by the workmanship of the man who built it, and by the honesty of the people who live in it. I was inspired by my beautiful wife to care more about my future and hers, and spend thought and energy not on the wealth and ease of life, but on the quality of life.

Being invincible only lasts so long.

The post Inspired appeared first on Of Psychology and Psychosomatics.

Normally, I’d say it was inspiration striking out of the blue, prompting several months, and sometimes years, of prose and poetry. When it settled, I’d have new material to pluck out on guitar strings until I glued myself back to another task.

However, now I’ve had about two years of uninterrupted non-inspiration, I can say very honestly that the driving forces of my creativity was self-centered loneliness.

I put that “self-centered” part so it wouldn’t sound pitiable. In reality, I was so desperate for a life outside bachelorhood that I’d forget how to live in a meaningful way. Everything needed a purpose, so in those times, my “purpose” was to be alone.

Hold on…I’m not explaining this right.

I was addicted to being alone.

When I was alone, I learned more, did more, prayed more, thought more, moved more. But I didn’t want to be alone.

Looking back, I think I needed that time. I needed to sweat out the toxins. It might have made me a better person. Not being alone certainly helped.

Anyway, all that to say it’s really hard to write this blog.

The post Inspiration appeared first on Of Psychology and Psychosomatics.