When is it about you, and when ISN’T it about you?
We have a dear friend who teaches at the college level. He went through a horrific divorce. That year, he announced to all his friends and classes, “It’s about ME.” We all laughed, but he was serious. He had a lot of stuff in his life to process.
To his credit, about six months later, he had worked through a lot of issues and announced, “It’s not about ME anymore.”
And this is the source of my confusion the last few weeks, and why I’ve been so silent in my blog for a few days. A lot is going on and I’m trying to sort out what is about ME and what isn’t.
When it's about ME, it's a very special filter fitted over my life. It's my stuff I have to work out. Everything seems to be a sign, a message. It can be exciting, and powerful--it's where my art comes from--but it can be confusing, too.
When it's about THEM, that can be empowering in a different way. You realize that other people have their stuff they're dealing with, that it ISN'T about YOU, and that you don't need to pick up their stuff. It's THEIR stuff THEY need to take care of, not yours.
But how to tell the difference?
Yesterday, in a public forum, someone called me condescending and suggested I knew nothing of what I spoke of. In private e-mail, two successful artist-businesspeople thanked me warmly for my insights into their business. One of them said, “You are GOOD!!”
Which incident is about me? Of course, the critic is the one that bothers me. But maybe....that’s about HER?
A friend has gone through a horrific experience with martial arts. I've been by her side through the entire process. It feels like it's about ME--but it's not. It's HER experience, and it's up to HER to decide what she wants to get out of it. I'm just along for support.
My experience with Model Mugging last weekend was profound. I immediately volunteered to be trained as an assistant. And I was floored by my overwhelming desire to do so, to be more directly involved with this group. After all, maybe that weekend was for someone else—the people who wouldn’t have been able to attend because the class was about to be cancelled for lack of enrollment. (Our additional four people saved it.) Or maybe it was about someone in our group who needed it more than me. Or maybe it was even for the instructors, who needed to see that profound transformation in me to encourage THEM. So maybe it wasn’t about ME. Although I still intend to pursue it and see where it leads me.
My desire to make my art is “off”. I find myself filled with even more powerful doubts the last few weeks, doubts I haven’t felt in years. What if my art has served its purpose and I’m left behind? What if, very simply, no one wants it? That felt awful.
It was my husband who gave me some words of wisdom yesterday. He said the heart of my art was never the “just the art”. It was always about the transformation that MAKING my art put me through. And it was also, in huge part, about connecting other people to the power of that transformation. It encourages the same empowerment in THEM.
So...maybe the part that’s about ME is also about THEM. And maybe it being about THEM is part of what makes it about ME. Hmmmm.....
Maybe I don’t have to figure it out.
I shipped some orders yesterday and was able to pay down some of my debts. I mailed a sample letter to another catalog company. I approached a museum store about carrying my work. I was able to clear my plate a bit, to make way for the bigger, more beautiful, more powerful work I want to focus on this year. That felt pretty good.
And I didn’t feel so overwhelmed this morning when I woke up. I woke up feeling...happy. I don’t even know why.
So today I vow to do one more thing to move my art forward. Today is the day I send those thank-you letters and gifts to my art angels. Today is the day I work out with a good friend, and move a little closer to my fitness goals. Today is the day I have salad for lunch again. (I’m actually beginning to LIKE salad.)
And maybe today, for just a little while, I can just focus about being in the moment.
MY moment.
