Inspired by a friend who occasionally decides that she’s a “real” artist and treats herself to the “good” paint.
The problem with life is that there is no playbook. You arrive on the field and, if you’re lucky, some nice people take care of you for a while and then, when you’re old enough you venture off to another part of the field and see what you can make of yourself. Still no playbook but thoughts of possibilities abound. And, after a while longer you figure out that in many ways it’s easy; that most people “get it” and, because they do they drive on the right side of the road, pay their bills and even hold the door open for you once in a while.
And then you decide to pursue one of those possibilities you dreamt up and you learn that it’s not so easy as you thought. Because now you’re operating outside of the accepted behaviors of the many. You’re hanging out on a part of the field that few if any have visited before. And this is where it gets interesting because now you have a decision to make: will you stay long enough to sort it out, to make it up as you go and normalize this place? Will you keep discovering new parts of the field or will you retreat towards what you know because, after all, it’s what you know? And, like most of those who have come this way before you decide to go back. And you feel pretty good about it because it’s predictable and understandable and it allows you to fit in with the rest of the gang who are operating from the same set of rules.
Until they’re not.
Because of course what you weren’t banking on is that the rules you accepted as a “given” can change with more impact and velocity than you can possibly imagine. And they will. And they do. And now you’re wondering which was the better deal: blindly expecting the known to remain the known so you can feel the false sense of safety you have learned to crave or risking the responsibility of defining a new set of rules in an unknown territory, scaring yourself to death by the possibility of utter loss but wondering if that’s not the point of the whole experience anyway.
The joy of life is that there is no playbook. You arrive on the field and, if you’re lucky, some nice people take care of you for a while and then, when you’re old enough you venture off to another part of the field and see what you can make of yourself. And you learn that you can create and so you keep venturing out, determining new rules as you go, experiencing new things, engaging new people, discovering new abilities and passions. And you begin to feel a powerful discomfort with the seduction of the known and you find yourself straddling two worlds; one beckoning you back, the other calling you forward.
And you get to decide. And it’s the most important decision of your life.