For most of my adult life I was looking at the question of “creative needs” in entirely the wrong way.

On the one hand, it seems perfectly clear to me that I need to do my creative work. If I don’t, I become very miserable very quickly.

On the other hand, the idea that I “must” make my art in order to be happy and healthy tends to make me clench up with shame and anxiety. It seems over-dramatic, self-indulgent, and frankly a bit weird.

(“Am I being too weird here?” is basically my kryptonite question. I can stop myself in my tracks for weeks by asking it.)

Back on the first hand, though, my experience shows me that not doing my work incurs a physical burden: tears, itchy gums, flashes of rage, a horrible restless sensation in the stomach. It’s physically painful, as well as emotionally unbearable.

But then on the other hand sit the headweasels, who say, “Nonsense! Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t need to create. You need food, water, sleep, and (if you’re a bit wussy) shelter. That’s it.”

Incidentally, dear reader, the same headweasels would like me to make it absolutely clear that this doesn’t apply to you. You most definitely need to do your creative work. No question. It’s just me who would want to cop on and stop being such a cry-baby.

They’re harsh, those headweasels, and they’ve caused me considerable pain over the years – because of course what they’re saying (hyperbole aside) feels true.

Billions of people live out their entire lives without ever getting to tend their unique creative blaze. In fact, the stupefying majority of humankind throughout history has been thwarted in this respect.

So, do I think I’m better than them?

No, I don’t.

And still I feel a need for creative expression.

Finally, I worked out where my thinking was arseways.

The headweasels, bless them, are trying to help. The risk, you see, in believing that I need to make my art is clear: what happens if I’m prevented by circumstance from doing so?

Do I shrivel and die?

Oh, no, that would be terrible! Far safer not to need it in the first place, right?

The problem lies in the assumption that when I say “need”, I’m talking about bare survival.

I’m not. Or at least, I don’t want to be.

I want to be talking about thriving

Very different proposition. In order to thrive (and I’m kind of appalled at how hard it’s been to own this as my aim) I need to make my art.

No art, no thrive. Sad all round.

Therefore, dear weasels, I get to arrange my life so that it includes regular time with my creative work.

Case closed

And lookit, if civilisation crumbles before I die, and instead of free-motion-quilting my next collection of haiku I must now spend my afternoons coming up with clever ways to make the less fortunate members of my community more palatable to the survivors, I’ll be more than delighted at that point to put thriving on hold.

Deal?

Deal.