Finding the Spark of Creation

Rediscovering and rekindling the joy of childlike play as an adult

Aug 13, 2024

I've got an itching on the tips of my fingers
I've got a burning in the back of my brain
I've got a hunger burning inside me, cannot be denied…
The spark of creation is flickering within me
The spark of creation is blazing in my blood
A bit of the fire that lit up the stars and brought life into the mud
The first inspiration, the spark of creation.

Lyrics from Spark of Creation written by Stephen Schwartz, from the musical Children of Eden

My friend wanted to celebrate her 48th birthday by hosting an intimate gathering at her pool with a small, select group of her closest friends. My enneagram four special talent is curating an impeccable playlist for any specific event, vibe, or mood, so I was put in charge of music. Because she loves show tunes and I, too, am obsessed with musical theatre, my playlist talent shone and I curated a wonderful, eclectic playlist of songs from across the musical theatre spectrum.

As the group floated around the pool sipping cocktails and enjoying conversation with each other, I sat to the side on the stairs with my drink and enjoyed the conversations as ambient sound to the playlist I curated that was playing on the Bluetooth speaker. Never one to insert myself into the middle of a group of people, I’m an introvert who prefers the fringe, observing others interacting and only interjecting if I feel compelled.

I was lost in my own world, enjoying the company of my own mind, the music, and the joyful energy of people around me when my friend, the birthday girl, shouted to me from across the pool.

“You have a lovely voice!”

I froze. My eyes widened in surprise. “Oh my god, was I singing out loud?!” I thought to myself. I must have been! The song “Some Things Are Meant to Be'' from Little Women was playing and the harmony between the two characters singing and the intensity of emotion they’re expressing at this point in the show brings me so much delight, it bubbles into a stim where my body shivers like a chill running from the roots of my hair down to my toes. When I’m alone I enjoy switching between the two harmonies at different parts of the song and when our voices meld together in those harmonies, it’s like a dopamine dam bursts in my brain.

“You could hear me?” I responded.

“Definitely.” She replied. I was visibly embarrassed. “But keep going! Please!” She affirmed. “It’s making me so happy!”

I was so caught up in the music that I didn’t realize that the singing I thought was under my breath was, in fact, out loud for everyone to hear. My body couldn’t quietly contain my excitement over the song and I began vocal stimming and didn’t even realize it.

I was embarrassed but only because I was unaware of my volume. But the fact that I was singing loud enough for others to hear is indicative of the amount of healing I’ve done to unmask and not care so much about how I’m perceived. It’s also a beautiful example of the kind of unconditional acceptance from the people I’ve chosen to surround myself with.

This is all because I’ve chosen to accommodate myself by allowing my inner child space to play simply for the sake of play.

Since I was eight years old I wanted nothing more than to work in the theatre. Musicals and the performing arts were the thing that made me feel most alive in my young life. However, I was forced to live so internally with that passion because, in my small evangelical world, no one cared about the arts. Theatre and performing were “too worldly” in my charismatic evangelical upbringing. Although, it never made sense to me that the folks that preached that message had no problem watching movies and television shows that weren’t strictly Christian. I was never allowed to take dance classes or singing lessons or be involved in local theatre productions. And in my small, evangelical private school, I learned quickly that a niche hyperfocus outside of youth group activities and school sports was a guarantee to be bullied. I had this alarming realization when, in my freshman year of high school, I gave an impassioned speech in English class about the status of Hamlet’s mental health during his soliloquy in Act III of Hamlet. Throughout my presentation, a group of classmates continually snickered and bated me with baseless contradictions to my theories about Hamlet’s character, simply to rile me up. Later they planted a fake skull in my locker with the words “You’re crazy” written in sharpie across the forehead. So in order to stay safe from being bullied by my peers or reprimanded by spiritual authority, all of my theatrical obsession in my youth was reserved for the privacy of my own bedroom where I listened to Broadway cast recordings, watched MGM musicals, and dreamed of being a part of that world some day because I believed being a part of that world would finally mean acceptance.

I wanted nothing more than to be a part of a theatre community. But as a child who survived a life-threatening illness at age three, I was always told that I was meant to do Big Things for God. Though I grew up wanting to do theatre, I was indoctrinated to believe that if I was going to pursue it, I had to do it strictly for Jesus because I owed it to him.

Once I was in college, I had a wonderful five years majoring in theatre. My desire to learn couldn’t be satiated. I took more classes than was required; acting classes, directing classes, musical theatre workshops, writing workshops, voice lessons, and I awkwardly braved jazz, tap, and lyrical dance classes. I interned at our regional theatre and got a job at a small community theatre acting in shows, directing kids shows, and teaching weekly theatre classes for kids. I finally had the chance to pursue my theatrical passions, but never without the mental torture that I was failing God by participating in theatre that wasn’t strictly Christian. On top of the crippling guilt, purity culture wouldn’t let me participate in anything where I had to romantically hold a guy's hand or, heaven forbid, kiss someone in a show who wasn’t my spouse.

The pace, the rejection, the religious OCD and guilt I had for not “doing theatre for Jesus” was too much for my nervous system at that point in my life. So once I graduated college with my theatre degree, I walked away from the theatre, and forced my passion to go dormant.

In the fifteen years since I walked away, so much has happened in my life that has shaped me into a completely different human. I was diagnosed with CPTSD from the abuse I endured at the hands of a malignant narcissistic mother. I spent years in therapy and in various therapeutic modalities like EMDR and hypnotherapy to heal from her psychological, emotional, physical, and spiritual abuse. I’ve suffered from chronic illness and been through two major surgeries. I’ve become a mother through adoption. I was the caretaker for my dying father. I’ve been diagnosed with ADHD and as autistic. I deconstructed my faith, leading to my deconversion from Christianity altogether.

But in those fifteen years since I left working in the theatre the greatest work I have done for myself is creating space for healing my inner child. Looking back, though I grieve that I missed out on so much by walking away as both a participant and a consumer of the theatre, I can see how it was the right decision for me and I feel a responsibility to live in that tension and respect its paradox; We can’t always see the full scope of our lives, the harm that was done to us, and the impact of our choices until we’re on another shore. Especially when we are that young. When I was immersed in the theatre world in my late teens and early twenties, I was so desperate for external approval after years of quelling the roaring fire inside of me. Once I was out on my own, able to make my own choices, I was desperate to prove that all those years of suppression meant something. Anything less than approval would have shattered me to the point of self-harm. And in a business where rejection is more frequent than not, I was taking a lot of risk I wasn’t equipped to endure at that point in my life.

I didn’t understand that rejection wasn’t necessarily a commentary on skill. There are so many variables that go into booking an acting job that have nothing to do with your talent and skill level. But I was so wounded, I took all rejection to be indicative of my inherent worth. Though I was grown, the little girl whose love for musicals was isolated to the four walls of her bedroom and the teen who was bullied for her passionate hyperfocus - she was the wounded person running my life. She so desperately wanted tangible evidence that her entire adolescence of unrequited passion for this art form could validate her existence.

However, I had to spend the last fifteen years learning that the validation I was seeking exists within my own self.

Now, at almost forty, having lived my story up to this point with all the hard experiences I’ve been through and lessons I’ve learned, I live with a level of healing and freedom I’ve never known before. And that passion for the theatre that I allowed to go dormant years ago, feels safe to come alive again. I feel like I’m coming home to myself. Only this time it’s not because I need to make a name for myself or a Higher Being. None of it has to lead to a future where I’m in a spotlight or a position of influence to validate my worth. I don’t feel a responsibility to make an eternal difference.

My only responsibility is to show up to play in order to feed my soul, to be the grown up that little me needed, and to advocate for the younger part of me that gave up something she loved.

I’m letting my passion for theatre come alive again because choosing to play for the sake of play is a way of accommodating myself. Play, in this specific form, sparks something in me that makes me come alive. It has made me feel alive since I was eight years old, but the motive for participating in this art form has changed from a focus on external approval to an internal focus of personal joy. Accommodating my need for play for the simple sake of play is a way I’m able to continually heal my inner child. I get to show up for her and remind her that we have everything we need to feel validated and whole within our own selves.

In his book, The Creative Act, Rick Rubin says, “[In] play, there are no stakes. No boundaries. No right or wrong. No quotas for productivity. It's an uninhibited state where your spirit can run free.”1

To accommodate our desire for play simply for the sake of it - to “allow our spirit to run free” - is to intentionally divest from the narrative that everything we participate in has to bring some participating value to capitalism or as a form of worship to some Higher Being.

The way we play looks different for each individual. However, Dr. Stuart Brown, founder of the National Institute of Play says, “If its purpose is more important than the act of doing it, then it’s probably not play.”2 To me, play is anything that facilitates a sense of playfulness for the individual, particularly if that playfulness connects them to a child-likeness that isn’t openly welcomed in our society.

I find my fulfillment in play specifically through storytelling. “People who play through storytelling are the folks who can see an ordinary situation and transform it into a fascinating narrative, weaving fact with imagination in a way that expends energy in a playful way…They feel the release of play through telling and listening to stories and are people who craft narratives from ordinary life.”3

This kind of play, for me, looks like reconnecting with my lifelong hyper focus on musical theatre in my present, daily life. I’m going to watch shows again at my local theatre companies and I’m even traveling to see productions. (More on that later!) I’m taking voice lessons and I have a personal goal to sing every day just for the joy of it. I bought a pair of tap shoes. I carve out time in my week to watch youtube videos of musical theatre numbers and teach myself choreography so I can dance around the house to bring a dose of joy to mundane household tasks. I read plays and write out the blocking as though I’m directing the show because I love to bring words on a page to life. I’ve created stories and characters and keep a file where I brain dump all of my ideas. I’m writing a cabaret act for the fun of it and I made a playlist of songs for my act that I play and belt in the car or the shower and pretend I’m putting on my show. I’m unmasking by info-dumping and inviting my closest people in on my choice to play and being vulnerable with them about what that looks like for me.

My first trip to New York City in 2002. I got to see Hollywood Arms, written by one of my idols, Carol Burnett. Seeing this show was a huge, formative moment for me after growing up watching Carol and studying her memoir One More Time (what the play was based on) as if I would be tested on it. I chose this play as my senior year project for my final directing course and watching it come to life was so special during those intense, creative years.

In the process, I’ve connected with my inner child and given her levels of healing we otherwise wouldn’t have experienced together if I had suppressed this need for play. It’s also uncovered how this productivity culture is interwoven with the American Christian culture I was born and indoctrinated into (that I have since deconstructed and deconverted from) that says everything that we participate in should show tangible results of contributing to a higher purpose.

The highest purpose in participating in play is to connect us to ourselves and our deepest sense of joy. Our play and the joy we get from it doesn’t only affect us; when we connect with these passions through accommodating our need for play, the joy it brings us has the ability to spill joy into the world around us. Our play and our joy becomes communal, connecting us with each other. Just think of the music you love to listen to and TV and movies you love to watch. These exist because humans chose to play and we benefit from it in ways that fill our soul.

I don’t have the same kind of singing voice as professional singers I admire, but I’ve learned, through the practice of play, to embrace and grow the voice that I do have. With that motive to sing simply because it brings me joy to play with my voice, my vocal abandon had the ability to do something small like bring my friend just a little bit of joy for her 48th birthday. Those are the beautiful little moments in life that our delight in play is capable of.

Getting to a point, as an adult, where I’m comfortable to pursue play as a means of meeting a necessary need has taken a lot of inner work. I wrote a guest article on Healing Is My Special Interest about the steps I’ve taken to embrace the concept of play as a grown adult that you can read here.