When I was little, I would write… all the time…. about anything. I LOVED to write. Poems, stories, songs, plays… I wasn’t me if I wasn’t creating. Today, being asked to write something in a class assignment gives me anxiety. I don’t know what to say. I am afraid I will be judged, that I will fail. I can’t remember the last time I wrote something for fun. What happened? When did that become who I am? When I hear the word’s “Heaven’s Fields” I have great visions of a place I love and yet fear, a place that screams of music and poetry. But how do I articulate that? It is a feeling that doesn’t have a voice any more. I started to write a poem at first. I wrote whatever came to mind. It was pretty bad for the most part until I wrote something about my vision of heaven and yet that I know better than to trust myself. What a stunning realization. I had been trying to convey that I don’t trust myself to paint an accurate picture of the field’s of heaven and yet I realized that in reality, when it comes to creativity, I don’t trust myself at all. When someone asks me to describe myself, the first words I use are Mother, Dancer, Actor, Singer, and Teacher. Who would read those words and think, “I bet she doesn’t have a creative bone in her body”? No one. So why is that my perception of myself? I don’t know how to find the previous version of myself, the one who creates with every breath she takes, but I want to.