Where do our dreams come from, and how do we know when we've reached them? I sometimes feel as if I've spent most of my life spinning in orbit all around my dreams, but never quite knowing how to land on them. They've become like faraway stars, and I start to think that if I really shoot myself straight at one, I'll burn right up. I always stay close of course, believing that if I do something that is somehow related to what I really want, that will be good enough. But there's always a striving, a mild dissatisfaction.
I've realized, too, that I have to remember to define my own version of success for myself. It's easy enough to say that promotions, titles, big money, a happy marriage, kids, vacations, and such and such mean you're successful. But I think too that success is something we often wait to just feel, thinking that it will be a thing that happens to us. My mind works in such a way that if I don't remember to clearly define my expectations/goals/etc. that I will be on a perpetual treadmill, never feeling like I've gotten anywhere valid. Surprisingly enough, I found an amazingly similar sentiment in a lecture given by John Mayer only a few days after this same light bulb went off in my head. It's smart and simple, probably the way most things should be: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JXSLTdcH22k
I think this idea is especially important for those on creative career tracks. I can't speak to others' experiences, but I know as an artist, that it is really difficult to feel successful if you aren't selling out shows or getting into prestigious galleries or being featured in popular art media. Maybe that's just me. I can feel an inward satisfaction when I make a piece I believe in, and it certainly fulfills a creative need that I have inside. However, at some point, it's human nature to want some outward recognition. So if these things aren't happening, and you're feeling bad about it, I think you need to decide if that is really how you determine your success, or if maybe that isn't what you are even aiming for at all. Taking a step back and trying to see an end point that you can clearly recognize could very well be the answer.
Important, too, is remembering what your real dreams were in the first place. So for me, here they are:
I want to be a published author/illustrator. This one is interesting, because it is a deceptively new goal that is actually quite old. I actually thought about going to school for illustration, but that somehow felt too specific in case I didn't wind up liking it or being any good at it. I've also always enjoyed writing. I had considered originally being an English major. I always received compliments on my writing from my teachers. I can't say I love the process as much as I do with visual art, but it is a much easier way for me to communicate than face to face with people. I also happen to think that everyone should have access to art, not just those who are wealthy enough to buy originals. Print it up, ship it out, let everyone get a piece of the pie. This particular dream feels like one that is a long process, not something to be rushed.
I want to make art that is skillful and insightful, but that I also want to put in my own house. I once asked a professor if there was something wrong with making art that you had the impulse to make, but then not actually wanting to live with it. In the functional ceramics world, yes, this can be a problem perhaps. Though I don't think anyone would expect Damien Hirst to want to live with his works. Or does he? I'm just a bit too lazy to do the research. But you get the point. Different art for different purposes. I want mine to be both good and inviting.
I want to educate. It's sometimes difficult for me to say that because the very verb has become something that seems to mean cramming information into someone's reluctant head for a test. I don't want to do it that way. I want to share information. I want to spark thought. I want to have a discourse. I think we're all still trying to figure out the best mode for this, but maybe it's somewhere between NPR and feeling dirt between our own fingers.
I recently unearthed a small pile of little books I had written in elementary school. The teachers had typed them up for the students, and then we illustrated them. One of my favorites is about all of the things I wanted to do in life. The first page shows me onstage, bright red curtains drawn open, and my arms are outstretched. I'm not sure if I wanted to dance, or sing, or act, but part of me thinks that I just wanted to be applauded. Another page shows me simply knitting stockings by a fireplace. I think that about sums it up.
