Mourning for things lost, mourning for passions deflated, mourning for wanting that left me empty. Mourning hopes in every arena that were shattered and broken.
I’ve hidden my head and my heart and curled up to lick my wounds. I’ve been lost in the darkness, deeper and bleaker than I have been since I’ve been on my own.
It has been the scariest few months of my life since I’ve been on my own.
It felt so much like the last few years of my marriage, where I felt lost and afraid and alone, unsure of what I was doing, unsure of what I was capable of. Knowing that I wanted something but not sure what it was. Knowing I had talent but not sure how to use that talent.
For the first time in more than six years, I stared down into the abyss again, and it beckoned. And my toes dangled over the edge, voices from below assuring me that it was okay, just let it all go and leave it all behind. No one would say anything. They’d understand if I just gave up. After all, I had failed spectacularly so they would understand.
The multi-headed beast spoke with the voices from my past, tempting me, luring me, trying to lull me into complancancy because with complancancy comes compliance. And I’m so much more easily manipulated when I’m compliant.
But the little voice that lives deep down inside of me that belongs to my heart and soul wouldn’t shut up. It stood on its tiptoes and screamed, at first, silently and ineffectively. But that little voice wouldn’t give up, struggling to be heard above the noise of the multi-headed, very loud beast.
And finally, in the past few days, that voice is starting to be heard.
It’s saying, fuck the beast, get back up and get back out there. Yeah, you hurt and, yeah, you got kicked in the teeth, both professionally and personally. And, yeah, there isn’t the support around you that you thought there was and, yeah, it’s pretty much just you, without many hands to hold you up. But there is a lot of you and fuck everybody else. If I can’t hold myself up, there’s no point to all of this.
And strangely enough, the voices has been loosed by my art classes at school. Last week, we had to do an abstract painting using a variety of techniques. There was to be no plan, just basically throwing paint on the canvas board to try different mediums, different paints, different styles. But as I painted, I started to see my depression and started to see a manifestation of that feeling of running into walls and not being able to find my way. I almost cried as I finished up the piece. I don’t think anyone else will see that in it but a bit of my heart ended up in the painting.
And my digital illustration teacher cannot give me enough praise for what I’m doing. But lately, that praise has felt empty because I haven’t been connected to the work that I’m doing.
But this current project is a cubist self-portrait based on another artist’s style and I was struggling with what I wanted to show with this self-portrait. Who am I in this portrait? Lee, the painter? Susan Lee, the writer? Susan Lee, the director? Who am I?
I started out putting an easel and a canvas in the painting but that didn’t feel right. I circled around and around and last night, I realized something.
I forgot that I’m a director. That at the heart and soul of everything I do, it’s because I’m a director. Even my artwork somehow ties into that. Although the production nightmare of “Diary” sucked my soul out and made me debate about ever directing again, it is what my soul lives for. And I realized that I had lost some of that desire and wasn’t sure if I could ever do that again.
But today, as I got up and got ready for school, I read a quote by Daisaku Ikeda, the president of SGI, the Buddhist group I belong to.
The worst mistake you can make is to give up on yourself and stop challenging yourself for fear of failure. Keep moving forward with a firm eye on the future, telling yourself, “I’ll start from today!” “I’ll start afresh from now, from this very moment!”"
Hmmm.
Fear of failure.
Well, I have failed in a magnificent way this year and yet, I’m still here. What is there to be afraid of now? I can’t fail any worse than I have so I might as well get off my ass and get back out there, get things started again.
I won’t regret taking the time to mourn what I’ve lost this year. I won’t regret taking this time to ponder and retreat.
But now it’s time for me to put my boots on again and stick my neck out once more, to face failure and take it on full force.
And if I fail again, oh, well. That’s the choice I’m making. Because this is the life I chose - to be able to fail, to be able to succeed, to be able to make these choices for myself and not to give in to what is expected, give in to what’s easy.
My life has never been easy. So why should I stop now?
So stay tuned. Hoping to have some interesting things on the horizon. We’ll see where they take me…
