Enough?
The other night my husband and I finished our tasks a little early. I should have been thrilled; I had unexpected time to put into any of my favorite activities. Instead, I all but literally walked in circles because I couldn’t decide what to do. From there I started wondering what the purpose of my creative work is. Who is it for? Are my thoughts worth reading? Is my photography worth looking at? There were no good answers at that moment and I settled for playing board games with my husband (which, for the record, was an excellent choice).
The spring of 2020, and all the changes it brought (personal and societal), birthed my first well of creative inspiration as an adult. I spent much of lockdown practicing photography, writing, reading, embroidering, scrapbooking, you name it. The world looks a little different these days; my days are filled with mom-ing and working and prepping for the next day of mom-ing and working. And it is wonderful. I’m grateful for every single second. Real talk though, it’s also exhausting. And the limited time I have specifically for myself can be paralyzing, just like the other night. It’s more than just an inability to decide what to do. It’s that question now of why? Much of my creative work is something that is both internal (in my process) and external (in the sharing of my work). So I ask myself, is my creative work only for myself? Or is it also for the experience of sharing it? For those appreciating it? I want to say that it’s only for myself. That’s the appropriate answer, right? If I’m honest, though, it’s for both. I want to create, and I want to share. Creating isn’t what’s hard for me; it’s sharing it. It’s worry over whether my words are insightful enough, my photography expressive enough, my stitching neat enough. Am I enough?
The other day my 14-month-old toddled up to me, his little box of crayons in my hand. He handed it to me, so I could open it for him. After I handed him a chunky blue one, his little face lit up, and he walked on unstable feet back to the coffee table where a sheet of paper lay. For the next 30 seconds or so he happily scribbled on the paper before deciding crayons were more fun to chew on than color with. I took the crayon away and gave him something else to do, but looked down at the scribbles my son was so delighted to make. They were the uncertain lines of a child still figuring out the world — but finding so much joy in the process. That sheet of paper reminded me of those 2020 days, of figuring out the world I found myself in, of figuring out how I fit into it. Creativity helped me find my way through all the changes 2020 brought. Along the way, creating time and space for writing and photography and painting and reflection brought me joy too.
Life is different today than it was in 2020, but some things remain the same. The world is still changing. I am still trying to figure out my way through it, I just have less time for myself. At the same time, this changing world also inspires me beyond ways I’ve ever known. Capturing my son’s milestones burst forth a well of inspiration — inspiration that I’m not always good about taking the time to follow through on, but is always there in the back of my mind. In the forefront of my mind is the knowledge that there’s always more I can do in the act of being a mom; there’s always laundry, always more to clean, always things to prep, always more to care for. But I also need to care for myself too. And my creativity is one of the best ways I can do that.
Last weekend, I took advantage of Golden Hour for some family photos. After a quick dinner, Austin and I packed up the cameras and our son and set off for a series of rolling hills in the next town. Between the 3 of us, we executed a creative vision I’d been mulling over for the last several days. Letting our son wobble around the hill with the setting sun filtering through the trees, I knelt in the grass and tried to capture all his little life through my lens. In that moment, I didn’t worry whether I was enough — enough of a mother or enough of a photographer or enough of a wife or enough of a friend. I had no question of why? plague my soul. I didn’t need to question because I had all my answers in front of me: I create because it’s who I am. My creativity reminds me of who I am in all the changes surrounding me. It allows me to reflect on and preserve these precious moments with my family, in whatever corner of the world we find ourselves. Through the lens of a camera or the words on a page or the colors of my threads, I find myself at my best. Whether I have an unexpected evening at my disposal or a few minutes in the middle of yet another crazy day, my creative work is always enough, reminding me that I am too.
