Friday Frights

Why do we give up the creative things we loved doing as kids?

Welcome to another edition of “Friday Frights,” where the real action takes place in the comments from you. 

Remember the excitement of pulling the lid off a new tub of Play-doh? (And remember how good and weird it smelled?) Or writing poems and stories with your friend under the shade of a dogwood tree during recess? Or acting in your high school production of Death of a Salesman? So, here’s a question: Do you play with Play-doh or write poems or act in plays anymore?

If yes, that’s wonderful! But if not, you’re in the company of millions of people who threw themselves into creative activities with abandon when they were young but then abandoned these well-loved pursuits when they became adults. Why do we do this?

When I was a kid, I played piano and acoustic guitar, drew landscapes with pastels, and painted portraits with acrylics. And then I stopped. Back then, being artsy was a part of my identity. But as I got older, I shed this identity, not out of the desire to move on but out of the painful realization that I simply wasn’t very talented.

What made this realization even more difficult was that I was regarded by my parents, friends, and teachers as if I were talented. Sure, Rose Biondi, David Foster, and Nick Tuosto were all better artists, but, hey, I was 4th best—not bad out of a class of 364 (and, yes, I remember the exact number because I was yearbook editor—something I was actually good at!).

My friends and I played our guitars and sang along in whatever the 1970s version of a hootenanny was with our beloved math teacher, Mr. B. I became the cartoonist for my high school newspaper my junior year. Summers I went to USDAN, an arts day camp that Mariah Carey and Natalie Portman later attended. My parents framed and hung a painting  of mine of a ship bobbing on the waves, and one of their friends’ kids guessed it was by Monet. Huh?! Aside from the hilarity of thinking we could ever in a million years afford a Monet, I think she interpreted my lack of precision as a purposeful attempt at Impressionism! I loved the smell of paint and setting up a canvas on an easel and squeezing paints onto a palette and the whole sensory experience and romance of it.

And then, like so many students who were stars in high school, I went to college and was crushed. In my audition for free guitar lessons, I played a flamenco piece I thought I’d mastered. Oh, I’d mastered it alright. But the committee was not impressed. “That’s just a practice piece, not a real composition,” one of them said. So, not only wasn’t I even worth giving lessons to, I was a fool besides. My guitar went immediately back into its case, never to emerge again until years later when I taught my son the chords to “25 or 6 to 4” by Chicago, and passed the guitar to him. (He went on to become the bassist for the indie band Speedy Ortiz and got to tour the U.S. multiple times and perform at major festivals in Europe. So there!)

Then, there was one of my studio art classes, where the assignment was to draw something in the shape of a circle. I drew a crystal ball, with hands on either side of it and question marks floating on the inside. Okay, not terribly original and way too literal but not the world’s worst idea or worst-executed one. Or so I thought.

We all pinned our drawings to the wall. Some were beautiful and elaborate, and I was in awe of them. I didn’t feel competitive because I was honestly just so happy to be surrounded by art. The professor and students made comments on each. When we moved in front of mine, there was silence. Absolute silence for what felt like hours but was probably just a minute. And then they started talking, which was even worse. The nearly unanimous consensus was that they had no fucking idea what I’d drawn. None.

It's no exaggeration to say this was a nightmare scenario for any creative person. For people to think my drawing lacked depth or didn’t show enough technique would already have been difficult to hear, but for them to not even know what I’d drawn was humiliating.

And then, just before I embarrassed myself further by crying or running from the classroom, a voice cut through the criticism. “What is wrong with you people?! It’s obviously a crystal ball!” One student not only knew what my drawing depicted but was astonished and indignant that no one else did. I wish I knew who she was so I could offer to give her a kidney (just in case) or care for her aging parents or, you know, simply thank her.

This near-stranger saved me that day. But she couldn’t save drawing and painting for me. I made some half-hearted attempts at it here and there, but I could never recapture the joy of doing it.

It’s really common for people to give up the activities they loved as kids. A response like mine to harsh criticism is one just factor. Others might include lack of: encouragement and recognition; access to education, internships, apprenticeships; someone to creative with; and time or space. I think some people also convince themselves that they should give up “childish” pursuits when they become adults. Why?!

Lately, I’ve started taking landscape and seascape pictures with my trusty iPhone with no greater purpose than simply feeling the unfettered joy once again of the creative process. And you know what? I feel that long-ago feeling, and it’s awesome.

What creative activities did you love as a kid that you no longer do? Why did you give them up? Are you interested in doing any of them again? Please share your thoughts in the comments below. Also, feel free to reply to other readers’ comments. I really appreciate your willingness to be open with the rest of us!