someone else's thing

in this search for a medium, i decided to take up embroidery because nobody else does it. my mom makes baskets and quilts. amy knits and felts. megan draws and paints. i figured embroidery was safe. but amy does that, too.

i was talking to her the other night about how frustrated i am to be without a medium. i feel as though i have something beautiful to say to the world and no voice to say it with. it's a sad and isolated place. she asked, "why do you have to do something that nobody else does?"

a very interesting question. something i've always known the answer to, but i'd never been asked before. and the answer is this: if i do something that only i do, there is no comparison. i can be different and special and unique and secure in my identity and my abilities. but if i try to own a new "thing" that's already someone else's "thing," chances are that i will not measure up creatively. i won't be as good.

now this may seem like it's rehashing some of my other posts, but it feels like new water. i had no idea my ego was that fragile. i've never been confronted with it. but all of a sudden, i'm not the self-confident little girl i thought i was. i'm wounded. i'm insecure. i'm broken.

but amy gave me some very wise words (just a bit paraphrased): "when did we lose the inner creator? when did we learn that how we drew wasn't okay? when did we lose our inner voice? it was when i learned that ryan evans was the best artist in the class, so i couldn't draw anymore. but if there's something in us waiting to be created, no one else will make it for us. it's ours to create. and the world (and we) will completely miss out if we don't take a risk and try."

so i'm going to take a risk and try. that's my new goal: just to try. to tell that little voice inside that doubts my abilities to shut up and go away. to stop cowering in the corner believing that i am lost and useless. to look the possibility of failure in the face and befriend it. because if i want adventure, if i want art and life, there will always be a risk. and sure, failure feels crappy, but more often than not, failure is a beginning, not an end, not a judgment. it's a lesson. it's a direction. and that's not so scary.