and tell myself what I really need and what my motives are, I get this.
And then my brain feels really sheepish about it, like maybe it’s really lame and I’m incapable of mattering or doing things that matter. I think it’s just upset that it kept it hidden and in the shadows for so long, because it feels so scary to say it; and to name the things that drive me and have driven me since I went down that slide in the playground thinking I could be a hero like Balto when I was three.
Every night before I fall asleep (somewhat fitfully) for the last few days I’ve had a running scenario/monologue. This isn’t really new to me, but for some reason it’s been fairly consistent the last few days which is somewhat odd.
I’m a guest on my favorite podcast (nerdist) and we’re talking about something and it always goes back to how I haven’t been to college which leads to me then explaining in detail the scenario of why that is, which leads me to trying to figure out if it’s okay that I don’t have a degree or any formal education after high school. Besides the fact that job odds are ever stacked in the opposite of my favor as far as pay goes – which is for many other reasons than just college, admittedly.
I don’t even know that I think college would make me a better person. I’m basically making myself a job by doing art, web-development stuff, both producing and acting in separate web series(es?), and trying to be healthy/fit. As far as time goes, I constantly need to evaluate how I spend it, and I am doing really cool things with it (in my opinion). I know how to learn, and I’m good at learning.
Honestly, as much as I think about having a steady paying job for myself, I’m not actually looking for one, because I’m enjoying doing “Niche Shoppe job” with my time because of the loveliness of my husband (who enables me to do that, and I don’t take it for granted – I try not to, anyway).
But something in the back of my mind is always there. Things from my past that I haven’t rooted out yet. I feel like college would somehow be a culmination of an inner need to tell myself that I can do it, and I don’t have to be the person I thought I was “supposed” to be, and that I’m not turning into that (obviously, the person I thought I was “supposed” to be would look absolutely nothing like me, and she’d have bad hair).
But I don’t have the money. Or the time, frankly. As much as I would love to someday, and may make that a goal in the future, I have other things calling my name – establishing myself, and my series(es), and my art, and taking care of me, and proving to myself that just because I don’t clock in at 9 and out at 5 and don’t actually get a paycheck (yet?) that what I’m doing is just as relevant; and just because I occasionally work in a bathrobe and do things from the comfort of our apartment doesn’t mean that I’m the definition of a “housewife”.
Because I’m really not.
I’m looking at you, dinner.
And dishes, I hate you.
With a passion.
I’ve wanted to be an art journaler for a long time, but every time I started I’d stop. I think it was because subconsciously I never really felt good enough. I loved other people’s art journals – in books, with loads of paint, or collages. But I’ve never really been able to do that (I can’t bring myself to write in books) and I wanted my journal to look cool too, so I sort of just got hung up.
A few days ago, I discovered The Art Journaler and their April prompt which somehow made it okay. Then, yesterday, I was hunting down a letter to tape to my journal-journal with another letter and I stumbled across some of my old notebooks from 2009 on. As I flipped through them, with the rambled notes and illustrations in the corner I realized, I’d been art journaling before I even realized I was an artist. And it wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t collage-y or dedicated (I had business ideas, math, sermon notes, and random marriage notes in with my thoughts) it was mine – and my art has improved a lot since then.
Which somehow made me realize something. It’s just a journal, and I don’t have to compare it and it doesn’t have to be like anyone else’s and it doesn’t have to be worthy, because it already is, because it’s mine. So lately, I’ve been toting around my pentalic recycled drawing book that I got on vacation last summer, and my sign pen markers I got for christmas; and drawing, coloring, and writing whatever prompts me, whatever thoughts I have in my head, and whatever I feel like I need to get down before I lose it.
If it’s particularly lengthy though, I have my shiny “live free” notebook my sister-in-law gave me for christmas that I’ve turned into my journal-journal. Pretty notebooks make good journals.
I used to fantasize about either taking over the world, or just changing the world in high school.
I’m good at politics and basically lived and breathed that world for 4 years. My politics have changed significantly since then, but sometimes a moment comes along and that bit of me that I’ve left in the past where I thought it belonged, sparks.
I realize more and more that I have many “faces” but not so much faces, as facets. I get energy and exhilaration from many things, and maybe there’s a way to embrace all of those passions, and not focus solely on one at the expense of another, or cut one huge part of myself off completely just to avoid it.
Maybe I can blend my love of the arts with that thing that ignites when I’m culturally aware and just want to do something. It’s all I’ve ever wanted really, and it’s been staring me in the face. All I want to be able to do is something, to change something, to have a reason to be remembered because I tried to make something better.
It makes me feel so vulnerable. I’ve been looking for something new but it’s been there all along, just different than what I thought it was initially.
I want to make a mark on the world, and I want to make it better. I feel alive when I make things and do things that I feel matter. I love art because with it I can express thoughts and emotions that I can’t put into words.
I don’t want to make propaganda pieces or anything, that’s sort of….my definition of what my art shouldn’t become – and whenever I’ve tried it always turns out much too preachy for my taste. I prefer to center around universal truths that seeking souls sort of…find and cling to, or mine does anyway. But art is powerful, and I’m good at that too.
Artivist? maybe… Rise of a Beautiful Champion? perhaps (sounds like a weird movie title). Maybe I’m an idealist…but maybe in some way, I could change a small part of the world.
Starting with mine {and learning what that means}. Maybe having a vastly huge and possibly unattainable dream with so much room to explore isn’t a bad thing, because small ones just aren’t working for me.
I have a voice…I’m just learning what it sounds like.
Strangely, the epiphany occurred while reading this article from Esquire.
I wrote a letter a few weeks ago, to myself in the future. It’s not something I do out of habit, but one of my friends – a kindred soul – inspired me to try a few weeks ago. What I thought was going to be something I saved and read to myself 10 years from now, turned out to be something more powerful, and something more….real. As I slowly become brave in myself, and learn who I am {becoming} and who I want to be…I find that deep down, the answers have been there all along, voices just waiting to be heard – beats meant to be danced to.
I feel almost as self conscious writing this, as I did when I wrote the letter.
Dear beautiful champion,Your bravery, heart, and imagination inspire. Your strength, love, and passion help people you don’t even see. Your grace and empathy makes you safe for people to come to and discover that it’s okay to be themselves, as you are yourself. Your journey, your pain, your path, and your discovery are all important, while hard, parts of your journey and your story. You wouldn’t be who you are without the painful and sad pieces, because those enable you to understand what other people are incapable of imagining.
You beautiful, strong, compassionate champion – may feel lost at times, but don’t let that stop you from your journey – your journey to be and become and realize your full potential, you who truly are. Never stop growing, dear one – you are more important than you realize.