August So Far . . .

 

I’ve been off this first week in August, another small taste of time off as I inch my way to retirement on the horizon. I’m ready for it. I know it. I feel it more with each stretch of days off, that knowledge that I have many interests to fill my days, and yet love leisurely mornings so much. I try to schedule activities/sports/appointments for later in the day so that my mornings can be slow. I prefer writing in the mornings to any other time of day. Although my morning pages, which should be three, are sometimes limited to one page only. But that’s okay.

And my blog posts, which were, at one time, once a week, have dwindled to once every two weeks. But that’s okay too, because I seem to be falling into rhythms that match the season.

Yesterday I went to the Tennis event held annually at York U when the pros (they alternate the men and women every year between Toronto and Montreal) come to dazzle us with their skill and power and prowess. I love watching tennis on television, but you don’t get the full impact of the power with which these athletes hit until you see it in person. The dedication of athletes always impresses me, how focused they are, how intense, how much of their heart and soul and body they put out there on the court.

It makes me wonder how much of myself I put into my activities. What do I throw myself into, with passion and commitment, fearlessly, without wondering what might happen if I fail, if others don’t approve, if others mock or deride the results? In writing and artistic pursuits you have to be prepared for that – that others won’t like what you produce, might make light of it, or worse, call it crap. You have to not care, and while it’s easy to say, “I don’t care what others think”, the truth is, to some extent, we all do.  It’s something that’s hard to let go of – that desire for validation of one’s work.

So, as an emerging writer and artist (labels I absolutely struggle to attach to myself), how do I balance the ‘not caring’ with wanting any work I produce to be well-received, liked, maybe even loved? It’s so different from work produced in the working world I’ve inhabited for the past few decades. But HOW is it different? And WHY? I believe it’s because in the working world I’ve been part of for so long, I feel qualified to have a place at the table. I’ve proven myself over and over. I’ve belonged there, no question. But in the artistic/writer world? I feel like an absolute newbie, tentatively knocking on the door, hoping someone will let me in. It’s not an easy circle to break into, and there is so much talent out there, so many people knocking on the same doors, and the gatekeepers can only let so many in (and yes, there are gatekeepers), and of course, when you get down to it, it’s a business like anything else. The artistic world is also a business world, and that’s the truth.

I’m not sure where this rambling post is going. It started out with August, which can be a temperamental month, undecided if it wants to hang onto summer or hedge towards fall (I’m in favour of the latter). And maybe it’s this indecision in nature that causes the same tendencies in ourselves. We’re not sure where to place our efforts, and so, if you’re anything like me, you allow yourself lazy, lingering mornings one day, and the next, you’re spending eight hours at a tennis event soaking it all in until your body aches possibly more than the athletes’ bodies because they’re young (with post-match massages and ice baths) and full of passion, and you’re older, but, as the young often don’t realize, older people still carry passions within them. They may not be the same ones they had in their youth. But the desire to feel and say, “This is what I can do”, “This is what I want to do”, “Look at what I did” never goes away.