Over the past few months, I have felt myself experiencing a subtle transformation.

It's as though I'm inside a cocoon. There is growth taking place that isn't always visible on the outside. I feel the discomfort of surrendering, the unsettling sensation of knowing that I am changing, but not knowing what I am changing into. I've felt a reawakening, a stirring somewhere outside, as though both the world and my mind have begun to reopen to all the possibilities for life and living.

***

I celebrated my 36th birthday last month, and it got me thinking about getting older and the (supposed) wisdom that comes with age and experience. The general narrative seems to be that sometime in your 30's, you stop caring what people think and become more confident in yourself and your abilities, presumably because you have lived life, grown wiser and let go of childish insecurities. But as I reflected on my creative journey over the past 16 years, I realized that with time I became more cautious, afraid to take chances, or allow people to see my work.

As we get older we learn all sorts of lessons about life, but we rarely pause to consider whether they actually mean anything. The things I learned as I got older that made me scared to put myself out there -- that things are hard for artists, the world isn't fair, good work gets overlooked, people will not understand you or what you do -- are not wholly untrue, but at the end of the day, do they matter?

In my early 20's, I was creatively fearless. I loved what I made and didn't care (or didn't notice) what other people thought. I didn't doubt myself, and had very little cynicism about my own work or the work of others. If I had an idea, I went for it, launching into projects with the energy and naïveté of someone who didn't know what they didn't know.

It's tempting to laugh at my innocence now that I'm "older and wiser", but the reality is, that naive fearlessness worked for me. I want to live from that place again.

***

I have wanted to take a creative writing course for years, and finally signed up for one in September. Last month towards the end of the 8 week program, I wrote the following poem inspired by the form of Dan Albergotti's "Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale" :

Things to Do in the Chrysalis

Enjoy the solitude. Let yourself dissolve into mush. Recall images of the blue sky, the feel of sun
on your face. Endure moments of fear in the slick darkness. Feel the pulse of your transformation.
Dream of the other side. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sounds of rain. Count the days.
Embrace the unknowing. Remind yourself that change will come when conditions are right.
Give thanks for your protective cocoon. Visualize all the possible colors on your new wings.
Look for signs of light coming through the walls. Practice the unfolding. Allow yourself to imagine
what you will do when you can fly.