Chaotic Peace

The spelling of the word “chaos” insinuates its meaning better than any definition ever could. The first two letters refuse to follow their rule, ignoring the “ch” sound we expect to hear in words like chicken, challenge, or choice. It's followed by an “a” and an “o,” which creates a hard vowel sound without any hint of an “e." The only player that seems to do its job correctly is the “s."

Chaos, in every sense of the word, is not something that brings peace to its victims, and I wouldn't say I find peace inside of chaos either. However, it’s more complicated than that. Throughout my life I have been drawn to creativity; it began by playing make-believe with my siblings, then it grew into creating infomercials for fake products, and it finally blossomed into my passion for writing. This love for writing has only heightened since the moment I first wrote a word, and to this day it is forever expanding, continuously making it more difficult for me to ignore that fire inside.

Yet, for some reason, I do not find myself writing about this passion. This challenge has tasked me with explaining a creative activity that brings me inner peace. I plan to write about that, but I also plan to put my own spin on it because the activity that brings me the most inner peace is not a hobby, such as knitting or reading, like most would expect. After all, how can I talk about creativity without being a little creative while in the process?

As anyone who has ever conjured up a sentence can attest to, writing is difficult, and no matter how hard I try, I fail to avoid that difficulty. Because of this, I need pristine conditions to get any sort of quality out of my writing, and over the years I’ve realized these conditions only come in fleeting moments. For my mind to peacefully wander, I need to be at peace myself, and that calm only comes after the storm.

I grew up in a family that had seven kids, seven kids who liked nothing more than to spend every second together. I, as the oldest, naturally fell into a makeshift role of leadership. My parents (and who could blame them after raising a small army of squealing children?) only encouraged this role by blessing us with a dreamlike amount of freedom. This freedom led us to become a gaggle of children who scoured the neighborhood for anything that could interest us. These ingredients became a perfect concoction for chaos, and as the head of the group, I felt a majority of that mayhem. While I admit there were stressful moments, these were dwarfed by the bliss we felt in those days.

Throughout my childhood, I got used to that beautiful madness, and in a way, it ruined me. It got me used to the speedy sensation that only comes when everything is happening at once. This made it difficult to relax unless I felt like the world had been moving twice as fast. Unfortunately, I’m still stuck with that today.

It took a while, but after years of wondering why I would constantly feel restless, I finally realized why. I needed some sort of chaos to be calm. This realization mutated into a new lifestyle. I began to seek out activities that could create any sort of chaotic feeling inside me. I would go on drives with no destination in mind. I would seek chores that would bore me and any other sane human. I would work out, so my body craved relaxation. Eventually, I realized this "chaos" didn’t have to be things I hated. I could go out with friends, I could try a new activity, or I could simply get out of the house; anything as long as I could go back home and feel like I had earned my relaxation.

It’s strange, but it works. My relaxation seems to have a sense of worth when it is introduced by a more chaotic event, and it’s this sense of worth that really brings me peace. This peace allows me to be able to do what I love most, which is to write. In the end, I’ve had to be creative, to allow myself to be creative.