The Curious Life

In a few weeks I’ll be hosting a celebrant retreat with the theme of The Creative Fire. As I mentally prepare for that long weekend, my thoughts inevitably turn to the topic of creativity.

Creativity is at the centre of a celebrant’s life, not just as writers but as curators of ceremonial space, ritual choreography and narration, and presence.

 

 

Creativity manifests in countless ways. How often do we say things like “I’m not very creative” just because we’re not showing art in galleries or writing bestselling novels or winning awards for our cupcakes?

 

I’ve learned, over the course of my lifetime, that creativity is anything we make; and it can be the way we decorate our home or tend our garden. It doesn’t have to involve paints, pens, photography, cooking or pottery. Why do we compare our offerings with others?

The more I experience and express creativity, the more I realise it is about living a curious life. This changes my mindset completely and helps me release all those moments of “I can’t draw” or “I can’t paint” and all the other versions of “I can’t”.

 

 

I am curious. Curiosity is my middle name. And my first! And my last! Curiosity has led to a lifetime of exploration in terms of physical travel and mental, emotional and spiritual journeys where I’m learning, discovering and wondering. Always driven by the desire to learn more, curiosity has taken me on wonderful paths.

In my previous work as a journalist, curiosity was my way of getting stories. My editor sent me off with an old black and white Ricoh camera (back in the olden days when you put film into a camera!) to find my stories. I’d come back to the news office and he’d say “Where did you get that picture?” or more precisely: “How did you get that picture?” “I climbed a crane,” I’d say matter of factly. Or, “I hitched a ride on a boat and sailed into the middle of the lake.” He’d shake his head in horror and tell me his insurance didn’t cover my adventures! “Stay on the ground!” he warned me (more than once). “They’re great photos, though, aren’t they?” I’d say, feeling proud of myself. “I mean, how boring would it have been if I’d stayed on the ground or at the side of the lake?”

I had no idea back when I started as a newspaper reporter, that the biographical storytelling in my feature articles was a precursor to my life as a funeral celebrant. Quite often I’ll come out of a funeral and someone will say “I knew (name) for thirty years, and I didn’t know half the things you spoke about today.” One of my funeral directors has said a similar thing many, many times: “I’ve known that family for decades, but I didn’t know that…” The stories I write (create) happen because I’m endlessly curious. This can manifest in seemingly simple ways. For example, their dear granny loved gardening. I want to know what type of gardening? Herbs, vegetables, flowers, hanging baskets, terracotta pots? Fairweather gardener or all year around? Sometimes families are surprised by the questions I ask, but the truth is that to make a story interesting it has to have detail. “Jane loved gardening” is okay. That’s how plenty of celebrants would write about Jane. Or you could write: “Even in the depths of a brutal Cumbrian Winter, Jane would don her wet-weather clothes and tour her garden for signs of neglect or life. With the passing of each season, Jane learned more about the eco-systems in her half-acre garden. Everything had a place, whether weed or wildflower.”

 

How often are we warned away from a curious life? “Curiosity kills the cat,” they say. Nah. I say: “Curiosity brings it back!” Besides, isn’t that the point of them having nine lives?

 

 

Curiosity is about asking questions and experimenting with ideas. What if I do this? What if I drive that way home instead? What happens when I…?

I’m often intrigued by how little some people know about their loved ones. We can be with someone every day and still know so little. Why is that? Or we can spend a few minutes with a stranger and learn more about them than anyone else ever has. Why is that?

Are we, as a species, generally lacking curiosity or are we fundamentally selfish? There have been so many times I’ve heard someone describe themselves as a ‘people person’ and yet what this means, in reality, is that they like having people around them (so they either have an audience or so they don’t have to exist and experience only their own company). Despite apparently liking being with others, they often don’t know the depths of these people. I find this interesting. And yet, you can have someone who spends a lot of time alone and can tell you in great detail about someone’s deepest thoughts, wishes, feelings.

 

 

Curiosity is what makes me keep turning the pages of a book when I’m snugged up in bed at night. One more page, I tell myself. Seventy pages later. You might say it’s lack of discipline. I say it’s delight! Delight and curiosity are marvellous mates in the creative life. The author Stephen King writes “Reading is the creative centre of a writer’s life.” I agree. And, as celebrants, we must see ourselves as writers. What is our creative centre? Yes, it can be through reading, for sure. In what other ways do we nourish this centre? I love (and have practised) Julia Cameron’s (The Artist’s Way) suggestion of taking yourself on a weekly artist date. Let your curiosity guide you on paths of delight, adventure and towards whimsical moments.

 

 

When I contemplate curiosity as a creative touchstone, I don’t just think of it professionally. I also reflect on it personally. One thing I’m conscious of is that no one on this planet really knows me. They might know aspects of me: I LOVE hot sunshine, ripe mangos, the smell of petrichor, moss, solo cello; or they may know aspects of my career, but they don’t know my inner world. Why? Because no one asks. You might think it’s because I’m not interesting, so why should they? Maybe you’re right but given my level of passion for certain topics, I’d say otherwise. 

 

 

How can we ever truly know another if we don’t, ourselves, live a curious life? Sometimes I’ve asked someone (not necessarily in my professional roles) a question about a loved one, and they’ll reply “I don’t know.” When I’ve asked why they don’t know, they’ll say “I never thought to ask,” or “I don’t want to be nosy.”  Nosy, to me, is when you’re mining answers in order to gossip. But curiosity so you can understand another person, or live a life of wild wonderment, isn’t that worth getting out of bed for?

Curiosity gets me out of my warm, comfortable and cosy bed deep in the night so I can stand by the window and breathe in the ice-cold air while enjoying an unpolluted starlit sky. Curiosity has me choosing something new on a menu. Curiosity has me reading a new author. Curiosity takes me to the garden centre looking for wonderful flowers or plants which need rescuing. Curiosity has me testing a recipe in the kitchen. Curiosity leads me to listening to a new singer or composer.

 

 

What thoughts have you, as a celebrant, given to living a curious life? Is it something you’re conscious of and how does that show in your life personally and professionally?

I like to think curiosity is one of my love languages. “It’s my way of saying: I’m interested in you. I care. Would you like to share your thoughts and feelings, stories and memories, with me?”

Curiosity is a door opener. And when a door opens, something inside us opens too. Within us is where all creativity begins. Our creativity is a gift to ourselves and to the world.