Leftie Trapped Inside A Righties Body

I have been sitting on this blog post for awhile now. I had the words and the title. I just don't think i wanted to commit it to words, and thus eternity.

Has anyone outside of Northern Colorado heard that Jimmy Johns commercial, with the fast talking guy and the crying baby? At the end he talks about the man being a left handed man, stuck in a right handed mans body, so he always picks the sandwich up with the left hand. I have been wondering a lot lately about this phenomenon. The idea of something in our soul, spirit, or heart being completely counter-intuitive to what we are in the physical realm.

I grew up in a family gifted in the arts. My mother is a fantastic write and singer. My brothers Greg is an artist, one of the best I have ever seen. My brother Justin is a beautiful musician. Justin has scientific talents as well, but somehow he portrays them in this thought-provoking artistic way. If you ever see him put together a computer you will understand.

I, growing up in this family, am not artistic. I can't speak a foreign language (an art in and of itself). I can't draw. I can't sing. I can't play an instrument. I have fancied myself a writer my entire life. I thought it was my one artistic talent. I call myself a writer, I introduce myself as a writer, I aspire to be a writer. But at the end of the day. I'm not.

I have thousands of sentences in various notebooks, electronic notepads, and sitting in my brain, that I promise I will turn into a book someday. But I never do. In fact, I know I'll never do it. But I'm a writer! That's what we do. We turn ideas into books, articles, short stories, poems. I don't.

I have a love for theater, photography, art, music, etc. I love it all. I love the arts. I'm passionate about them. I always promise I'll get involved in theater again. After all, my brief stint in theater means I'm an actress at heart. When I see photojournalism spreads I yearn to also be a photojournalist. Just like I take philosophy, geology, music, etc classes and think I'm going to be the next big philospher or geologist. I appreciate it all so very much, I mistake it for fate.

I have been thinking more and more lately that I was never meant to be a writer, or any other type of artist.

I like math. I like science. I like knowing how things work. I like the order and organization that comes with all of it. I like knowing that 2+2 always equals four. In fact I love that about the sciences.

I'm a scientific person trapped inside an artists body. And that scares the every loving hell out of me. After 23 years of pursuing this dream of art, I'm now afraid I'll never follow through, not because I lack inspiration, but because I lack the actual skills to do so.

Where do I go from here? I'm not sure. People are telling me to just pick a different masters program and go into the sciences, but just when I start to consider it, I hear beautiful music, or I read words that change me, and I can't, I just can't let go of this goal to be an artist.