I made the mistake of going to the basement yesterday. No, not the part with the laundry and the cat boxes and the beer fridge where I go all the time. I went to the giant mess of a room where the years of accumulated art stuff lives. To the place where all the old projects and ideas and possibilities lurk.
It’s perfectly ok to go there in search of a specific object. But yesterday I went there in search of an old idea, a collection of objects pulled together for a purpose. And while I was on this fool’s errand for something I could not find, I naturally turned up other ideas and collections and half-finished bits of magic. My mind started churning with the possibilities. I felt myself getting sucked into the whirlpool of overwhelm. I hightailed it out of there!
Back upstairs to the relative calm of the couple of projects I’ve been steadily working on. Back to a place where I’m completing my thoughts and following through with my ideas. Back to my own work.
There’s a lot of beauty down there, and a lot of value in those starts and stops and experiments. If not for all of that practice and play and figuring stuff out, I never would have made it to this point where I am doing my own work, telling my own story.
It would be so easy to wander down that road, distracted by all those shiny thoughts, puttering here and there at this or that. But I’m learning that if I want to accomplish my work, I have to concentrate on doing my work. Focus is what keeps a project moving along. Playing with too many ideas means nothing gets done, work doesn’t develop.
Happily, there is joy and contentment in doing the work that is my work. And happily, yesterday I figured that out in time.