I’ve spent the past week teaching myself code for excel so I can attempt building a database to organize contacts and session notes. I’m horrible at red tape, but I love building things. I have no idea where I keep the information for anything I do, and recently noticed about four journals, an unaccounted for number of emails and social media message boxes, and 15 spreadsheets where I’ve “started” taking notes. It’s definitely time to take this project by the teeth and write. Code. For myself. It seems I never do things the easy way…

I won’t lie, this is also a point of pride. It feels good to know that I can fend for myself and I don’t need other people to survive. It’s a tactic I’ve garnered after an entire lifetime of not being able to simply afford buying the thing or hiring the person to do it for me. My house is tidy and clean, my websites were built by me (which is also the reason they never get redesigned or updated unfortunately), and I have a very disparate set of skills in my back pocket, which I can apply wherever I must when the time comes to whip them about. The amount of time I spend learning brand new skills and making a few examples of each new thing, accounts for a high percentage of my existence. This is also something which defines my artistry, for which I’m proud. On the other hand, the soft gooey sloopy slimy skiddish kitten inside of me—the personal face of who I am—is not the face people outside of me look upon. Other people see results instead of struggle, mess, and obsessive weeks of research, try-and-fail build and rebuild throughout frustration, gestation, dreaming, and eventual success. The amount of times people have given me the feedback that I’m intimidating, unemotional, that I don’t seem to need people, or that I’m unaccessible is shocking and frankly saddening to me, perhaps also a bit isolating.

So, what does a hardened professional with all the skills and none of the time left over do to unwind and find love at the end of the day when the soft gooey sloopy slimy skiddish kitten needs to come out and play? Honestly it doesn’t happen as often as I would like, but lately I’ve found a new kink clamoring for attention: being “little”. Yes, you read it right, this 40 year old BDSM skills teacher/Dom/sex ed coach/performance artist likes to throw on a onesie and snuggle close with someone excited to step in and be Mommy/Daddy/Caretaker/Big to me.

Everyone needs balance and mine right now heralds time for nurturance. It’s also just plain fun. After a day of studying VBA and tearing my hair out because I didn’t realize one character in a page of code needed to be capitalized, or fulfilling other peoples fantasies, or being psychologically and emotionally focused on supporting and encouraging others, I need silliness! Who doesn’t want to dress up in a tutu and get treated to the movies, or lay on a carpet and color for an afternoon, or be given a bath, or be told what to do (especially if it’s what you already wanted to do anyway), or be seduced in a completely perverted fashion (well, that last one I suppose is a matter of taste, and I joyfully pervert my time away with trusted pervert friends whenever I can).

Why am I writing about this today? It’s not the academic, nor the poetic fodder from which my usual offerings are made. I’m writing about this because I think it’s important and beautiful to be diverse in our endeavors. It’s a blessing to be full of life and willing to try new expressions which are inconsistent with our canon when the intrigue comes around. It’s an opportunity for growth to try a thing on for our own amusement or assessment, which I absolutely champion. I think it is far too common in today’s binary-enforced society to hold the phrase “no, not I” forefront as if the face-mask of a costume which defines one’s reality, rather than in the back pocket waiting for actual need to arise. Where is our collective sense of “yes, and”—or even, “I dunno, I’ll try”?

Shame is the yet unnamed villain contained within the story of my writing. Shame shuts people down and keeps us holed up inside, afraid to move into new territory or revisit old failures armed with new information. Shame whispers that we definitely should not, even when we have opportunity and understanding surrounding us. Shame convinces our brains that there is no circle of friends who would entertain saying “let me help you” to the questions we have. Shame dresses us in monotone instead of vibrantly colored self-assurance, and takes away our toys as if life were never meant for play.

I realize that within my desire to experience and try on being little I’ve held onto the safety of isolation and the story of self-sufficiency for too long. I haven’t put myself out there to my communities to ask for help. I seem to have lost track of the key which secures this “do-it-all-myself” persona/mask to my face. I’ve gone to lengths to cover up my own inner desires—even as I champion others’. This is a story highlighting the importance of paying attention to exactly how we deny ourselves or fail to engage in forms of self love and much needed care. It doesn’t serve anyone to deny joy in the name of self judgement and shame—that we judge ourselves harshly may be a major reason we judge others harshly too, producing an ever increasing fear of judgement. The answer to breaking that feedback loop can often be found deep in the bowels of self acceptance.

Today I encourage you to step out and play. Try the thing on. Make friends. Consensually and safely bury yourself in that new activity you’ve had your eye on simply for the reason that it feels good and somehow fills your mind, heart, spirit, or body with release and joy. Don’t question yourself over and over about “why” until you give the thing up. Find a reasonably safe way to try…

In ending, does this mean I don’t derive pleasure, empowerment, joy, and satisfaction from my position as Power Sex Geek Artist? Absolutely not. Though I desire time to be a cared for little thing, I don’t endeavor to be a smaller Creature than I am fit to be. I am even larger when I can be little when I need.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art.
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