I used to doodle. All the time. I used to write stories and elaborate, carefully-worded, fanciful emails. I used to have fantastical daydreams and nonsensical plans I half believed in.
I used to have walls covered with 'inspiration' and spend tube journeys planning my site-specific specialist dance company, or the magazine I would create, or the books I would write.
I used to always include 'creative' or 'imaginative' if pushed to complete that annoying exercise of describing oneself in three words.
Nowadays 'sensible' springs to mind. 'Pedantic' perhaps. Restrained. Messy. Busy. Somewhat efficient even. But not imaginative. Not creative. Because I neither imagine nor create anymore.
I never doodle. I make lists. There are no stories in my mind, just a constant rolling inventory of what to do and when I should do it. My emails are brief to the point of curtness.
I sat down at a cafe the other day and 'allowed' myself to doodle. But nothing came. My mind just wanted to list what I need to sort and what I could make for dinner. My university notes were never more than about 10% comprehensible - they always became covered in nonsense and drawings. I used not be able to stop it, and now I can't start it.
Oh you could still say I was 'creative' I suppose. I mean, I create dinners out of really peculiar fridge contents sometimes. And I invent nonsense songs on the spot as I potter around with the baby. And I have little craft projects to do (but they are much more about relaxation and an activity for me than 'creativeness').
I miss it. I miss that bit of my brain.
Is it just being a parent, I wonder? Half my brain eroded by sleep deprivation; the other half crammed full of constant things to do.
Or did it start when I left my dead-end job (and my colleagues there - fellow idling amateur writers/designers/dancers/musicians) and fell into accountancy, somewhat accidentally. That intense training does rather warp one's thinking.
Either way, I do hope at some point that it will come back.