Wednesday, August 18, 2010

"It is art that makes life, makes interest, makes importance... and I know of no substitute whatever for the force and beauty of its process." Henry James

I've always  been a dedicated and passionate reader. My connection to the characters and events in books and their authors has, at times, surpassed my connection to the more immediate world around me. As a child, peers mocked me as I read constantly-- at lunch, on the playground, on the bus, under my desk if the teacher's lesson did not hold my interest. Fortunately with my nose buried in another world I was blissfully unaware of the scorn.  In that magical time of freedom, possibility, and ignorance of the judgement of others I fancied myself quite the writer and artist-- in fact, I outlined my future careers as a trifecta of A's: I would be a successful Actress and Artist in my youth, then as I aged become an Author, recounting the stories of my eccentric and interesting life.

This was how it was until the hyper-awareness of adolescence set in. As it tends to do, puberty and all its awkwardness struck with a force for which I was unprepared. Confidence, arrogance even, in my abilities gave way to supreme doubt and the desire to blend in. Where once I was eager to show off my creative endeavors, I withdrew deeply, harshly judging myself and what had come to seem silly projects and aspirations. I went so far as to destroy stories I had written and paintings I had completed (a practice not at all without precedent it seems) so embarrassed was I by their juvenile nature. Where before this phase the books I read inspired me to create my own, during, and for a long time after, they became imposing and untouchable monoliths. Each writer whose voice I treasured, every story in which I became invested, convinced me further that everything I had to say had already been said, and much more eloquently, by the masters I most admired.

This blog as I've mentioned is my attempt to maintain joy in the process- of living, mothering, and yes, finally, writing. I became a bit distracted yesterday (you'll notice there was no new post) as I got wrapped up in reading other blogs I like and researching some new ones. Old doubts and comparisons filled my head- this one looks prettier, this one is funnier, this one has 10,000 readers...

Fortunately, through the practice of meditation, I've learned, slowly, to step outside these habituated patterns of self-critical thinking. Mothering, as well, has given me the opportunity to think often about the practices and perspectives I want to model for my daughter. I thought about the way I will counsel her when she comes to me someday with the same self-doubt I was experiencing. Of course I will offer nothing but encouragement and the advice to let go of comparisons for the sake of the process of creating-- and I realized, if I want her to take me seriously (or better, to not have to go through that kind of self-doubt) I have to live what I speak. So after a day of inner conflict, re-inspired, re-committed, I am back and aim to continue on for the sake of the process once again...

3 comments:

  1. oh yes, another blog from my sweet dear friend Lisa in Philadelphia...thought you might like it because she too is a crazy avid reader.
    livingoutloudnow.blogspot.com

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  2. I'm so glad YOU'RE YOU! and You're blogging! Keep it up. I'm enjoying your beautiful posts :) xo

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