Velvet

It’s been three months, an entire quarter of a year, since I’ve done anything more artistic than drool hungrily over the wall of pastels at Blick.  Okay, there was that time I set up a cocktail bar on the potting bench in my porch, making a cool looking elevated serving tray out of an old scale and a bamboo cutting board, but that doesn’t really count.  We get so buried in the tasks we think we need to do, that we completely abandon what it is we like to do.  Thank goodness for the perspective of thoughtful friends who occasionally think to ask the question “What have you done for yourself lately?”

My friend sounded the alarm over lunch last weekend, alerting me I am in danger of flattening out again, becoming so consumed by my work that the other interests I have been so intentionally pursuing have all but vacated my life.  She could hear the knell so clearly in the wail of my voice, yet I had barely noticed.  Wrapped up in my new assignment, I easily slid right back into the long commute, crazy hours and tunnel vision that define a big job.

Leaving the restaurant, I took inventory.  Yes, it’s true I’ve reduced the number of miles I run these days, but this is a conscious decision after the stiffness from my half marathon in March took several months to dissipate.  I’m still writing, fighting to make time for the blog, but no longer investigating publishing opportunities.   The last piece of artwork I created was in July.  And the dating, well, we don’t need to talk about that.. . 

The most telling of all, though, is that I’ve stopped thinking about what I’ll do next with my career.  When I didn’t have something nailed down at the office, I allowed myself the freedom to think way outside the box.  Now I find myself confined inside familiar walls, squelching all the possibilities I had so proudly sketched out over the course of the year.

It’s like the patient who gets on maintenance medication and starts to feel so good that she decides she doesn’t need to fill the prescription anymore.  Fueling our passions is never-ending; we need to dose daily to keep ourselves happy. 

Someone very wise once told me that the work will still be there tomorrow.  We never completely finish what is on our plates.  For me this translates into permission to set limits around the time I spend working and permission to engage regularly in what’s fun. 

I didn’t pay too much attention in Economics class in college.  In fact, I paid so little attention that when a male friend once called my dorm room on a snowy morning impersonating my instructor, notifying me that class was canceled due to weather, he wasn’t given away because I recognized the teacher’s voice from lectures, but rather by the implausibility that I would receive a personal call from the professor.  What I do remember though from Economics 101 is the concept of diminishing returns.  We all invest with the intent to reap big rewards.  Many of us, women especially, invest for years on the promise of big rewards.  Economics tells us there’s a limit.  There is a point when the rewards top out despite our continued investment.

We all see our return in different terms.  The currency can take on many forms.  But what is universal is that when we invest all of our time and energy in one area, it becomes how we define ourselves.  It actually reduces confidence, because there’s an increased dependency when we limit ourselves to a single option. And you don’t need a college economics class to tell you that you should never put all your eggs in one basket.

So I’m back into my art.  The concept for my holiday card is complete; the mock-up on my desk while I mull over whether I’m really pleased with the execution.  It may need more tinkering.  The foundation for my next sketchbook is laid, which is super exciting because with the canvas prepped, it’s ready for whatever inspires me on any given day.  And I’m starting to think hard again not just about what I do at work, but what I really like to do at work. 

I’m taking my friend’s sage advice and recalibrating, sprinkling in a little economics.  Balance is based on where I see the biggest rewards.  My currency is happiness and pride. My return exceeds my investment in ways I've never imagined.