From the Writer’s Desk | Salt, Ink & Soul
I’ve noticed something about creative people.
Writers, artists, musicians, and those who seem to see the world a little differently from everyone else.
We have a tendency to wander.
Not necessarily in the physical sense, although some of us do that too. I mean in our thoughts, our imaginations, and the places our minds take us when we let ourselves explore.
I’ve come to think of us as kites in the wind.
We were made to fly.
To catch the currents that others might never notice. To rise above the ordinary and discover something beautiful in places where someone else might see nothing at all.
And there is a certain freedom in that.
As a writer, I know what it feels like to begin with a single thought and suddenly find myself somewhere I never intended to go. One idea becomes another. A memory opens the door to something I thought I had forgotten. Before I know it, hours have passed, and I’ve traveled a considerable distance without ever leaving my chair.
I imagine musicians experience something similar when a melody begins to take shape, or artists when the image in their minds slowly becomes something their hands can create.
It is one of the beautiful things about creativity.
But I’ve also come to believe that even a kite needs someone to hold the string.
Not someone to control where it goes.
Not someone who pulls it down every time it begins to rise or becomes frightened when the wind carries it somewhere unfamiliar.
But someone who understands that the freedom to fly and the need to remain connected are not opposing things.
Sometimes, they depend upon one another.
Creative people can become so consumed by what is happening inside their minds that the world around them begins to fade. We can lose track of time, neglect the ordinary responsibilities of living, or get so caught up in our ideas that we forget there is a life waiting for us beyond them.
And sometimes, without meaning to, we can lose ourselves.
That’s where I believe having the right person in our lives makes a difference.
Someone who understands why we need to fly but also recognizes when the wind is becoming too strong.
Someone who doesn’t mistake our imagination for foolishness or our need for solitude as rejection.
Someone who can gently remind us to eat, rest, laugh, and come back to the people and places that give our lives meaning.
And perhaps most importantly, someone who doesn’t resent the fact that part of who we are will always belong to the wind.
I’ve learned that there is a difference between being held and being restrained.
One is an act of love.
The other expresses fear.
The person holding the string should never have to become the person who decides how high we are allowed to rise. Their purpose isn’t to limit our possibilities but to help us remain connected to the things that matter while we explore them.
And we, in turn, have a responsibility to remember that someone is standing on the ground.
That their patience, understanding, and presence should never be taken for granted.
Because holding the string requires something too.
Trust.
The willingness to let someone you care about move in directions you cannot always follow, knowing that their desire to explore isn’t necessarily a desire to leave you behind.
I think about that sometimes.
About how easy it is to confuse independence with having no need for anyone. About how we celebrate the freedom of creative minds without always acknowledging the importance of those who help us find our way back.
Maybe the strongest relationships are not the ones where two people are constantly standing side by side.
Maybe sometimes they are the ones where one person can rise into the wind, knowing someone else is below, looking upward, smiling, and allowing the string to move freely through their hands.
Not pulling.
Not demanding.
Simply understanding.
Because a kite without wind will never know what it means to fly.
But a kite without a string may eventually discover that drifting and freedom are not the same thing.
And perhaps that is what I’ve been trying to understand.
I don’t need someone to keep me from flying.
I need someone who understands why I must.
Someone who knows that when the wind settles, I don’t want to find myself tangled in the branches of some unfamiliar tree, wondering how I got there.
I want to come gently back to earth.
To familiar ground.
To a life that has room for both my imagination and the people I love.
And perhaps, if I’m fortunate enough, to someone who never asked me to stop flying in the first place.
Because sometimes the greatest freedom comes from knowing there is someone you can always find your way back to.
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