I've been thinking a lot about the events of the last few weeks: adversity, whatever form it takes, always has a lot to teach us. We miss an incredible opportunity to learn if we get so caught up in the drama that we can't bear to look more closely.
But. We also need to take a break from the drama. So I did that today: I wandered over to our town library and spent an hour or so shelf-reading: making sure the books are in order, pulling the ones that need mending, lining them all up.
In a lot of ways it's a pretty simple task, not unlike folding sweaters in a retail store. It's not that challenging, but if it's not done things can get pretty messy -- and surprisingly unappealing.
... and I loved the work. I found myself wondering why I ever left the world of libraries (just so you know, it was the money. After the divorce I just couldn't support myself on $3 an hour...) So then I thought, what is it I love? Well, there's the books. And the people, who all seem very nice. It's the opportunity to contribute, to give back some of the skillset I've acquired over the years, even if only in a very small way.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I liked it because it felt safe. One thing I'm learning as I pass through this particular transition phase is that the tensions described in the poem at right are very real. There's a deep longing to be seen, to be recognized, to be appreciated -- I'm told that's a characteristic of the enneagram 4, the artist. But there's also a more deeply rooted fear of disapproval, of saying or doing something that will bring down some sort of unexpected punishment. And the tension between those two conflicting drives has resulted in a sort of paralysis.
But in the library I don't need to be visible -- I can just be helpful. And the chances of doing something heinously wrong are greatly reduced when I am not expected to, say, convince lots of customers that my product is absolutely essential and they must buy it (is anything really that essential?) or convince wealthy patrons that they should really be giving lots of their spare cash to my worthy institution (when there are so many worth causes vying for that money), or convince constituents that their representative leaders have their best interests at heart (when they clearly don't) or convince my employers that they cannot continue to indulge in unethical behaviors (like THAT's ever going to fly!).
And look at that. I just noticed how many times the word "convince" appeared in that last paragraph. In the libary I don't need to convince anyone of anything. I don't have to sell; I only need to serve. Which is sort of the appeal of being "just an artist" as well. I don't have to convince anyone that this bridge exists, or that it's even possible. I don't even have to convince you that this image is beautiful. Or that you want to hire me to photograph something of yours. When I am just being an artist, I am just ... playing. Creating. Exploring the possibilities, imagining, wondering -- and reveling in the results; allowing the beautiful colors to feed my eyes and my soul. And if you don't like it, that's okay: I haven't let you down, haven't promised anything I couldn't deliver. All I promised was that I would continue to explore, and that you are welcome to join me on the journey.
A much safer place to be.
And now I get to explore how it is that safety became so important...
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