Do you know that feeling when you are in the shower and you reach down to pick up the soap, and it just slips out of your fingers? So you try again, this time using both hands, and plop!...there goes the soap flying across the shower floor. And on and on, until finally you grasp the little sucker with your finger nails so it can’t get away. It will do its job for you. When it is done doing its job, and only then, will it be able slip back into its comfortable nook on the shower wall, only to slide off again at your feet, at which point you just leave it there, sitting over the grate letting the rest of your shower water begin to assist in its slow disintegration. You sigh and just let it be. After all, it did what you asked it to do, and you are clean now, so there is no need to go through that whole rigmarole again.
As adults, we often go through our own processes trying to hold onto our own individual creative soaps. We are searching for our voice, learning to create again, or developing a particular style with art, cooking, music, or any number of ways we wish to express ourselves. Oftentimes, we are working to take off layers of upbringing, possibly even addictions or other roads that may have lead us astray from our creative paths. We do it because creativity and being able to uniquely express ourselves is our birthright, but it is often hard work. So how do we rear thoughtful creative children, the kind of children who grow up to be thoughtful creative adults, who are somehow able to continue to nimbly grasp their own true creative, yet slippery, wonder?
Luckily, there’s more than one way to do so, and this little journey we call parenting is as unique as our kids are. Still, if we can release for a moment the urge to control; if we can allow true expression; if we can honor the creative impulses that arise, and do so early and often, then we encourage the creative life we want and strive for ourselves.
So it is later in the afternoon and you walk into the bathroom. The shower curtain is still pulled back and you see that the soap is still guarding the grate, just as you left it. You reach down again and easily pluck the soap up and place it back on the shelf. It stays put. A second later your out-loud, expressive, energetic, creative kid goes running down the hallway dressed as the super-human master of the underworld, flaming red scarves trailing behind. The energy settles on your whole being, and you smile, because maybe, just maybe, when he grows up he won’t have such a hard time holding onto his soap.
Ginger Carlson, author