So I found out that not only am I not perfect but I am not even a real perfectionist. Sure, I am in some areas, specifically parenting and decision making but not in areas pertaining to my body image or career or relationships, because you see the latter areas depend so much on what other people think of you…and quite frankly, I don’t care. Outside of maintaining a sense of integrity, I could care very little if people didn’t liked the way I looked in some way or didn’t think I was successful enough. I have few friends and recently, one of those few friends pointed out how ridiculous it is that I relate better to Sherlock than I do to Glee. Life is not a constant battle for recognition or the illusion of success but rather a consistent, never-ending, never-yielding existential crisis in which I can never quite live up to my own standards.
Much has happened in the last month and a half. Some may have noticed my lack of presence, others…perhaps not.
The biggest change and perhaps the thing that precipitated the rest is that I started a new job. It’s boring. It doesn’t define me. It’s neither good nor bad, but it’s not something that I am particularly proud of. That being said, it’s not something I am ashamed of. It just is.
Every once and a while, Ben and I will hear of another musician who has “bit the dust”. In other words, they have found a day job totally unrelated to music because their art was not good enough to sustain them. It’s kind of like that. My art cannot sustain my family, nor can Ben’s, so I got a day job. One where I can move up, make more money and receive benefits – you know, a real job.
I guess it sounds rather depressing when I put it that way. It isn’t. There are many good things about it but it is still new and I wonder if I am cheating myself, cheating the artist inside me and cheating my family by working outside of the home doing something the world approves of, not necessarily with their hearts, but with their pocket books and I happen to be good at…as opposed to, say, Art.
I am trying to tell myself that it is okay – that it is a means to an end. I am trying to tell myself that I am not selling out on the perfect ideal, which I have meticulously crafted in my heart and mind. I am trying to tell myself that it will allow me to be more invested in my art when I do have time off…(what time off? I’m a working mom).
The truth is, I don’t really know what I want to be when I grow up. Because “being something” implies that you make money doing whatever “it” is. And in reality, if I were to envision the perfect life, it would be a perfect balance of being the perfect mom and the perfect artist (if there is such a thing). I would write…what I want to write and everybody would love it and I would get paid for it. I would paint and make music and inspire people through my words and photographs. I would have time to sit down…..
…..and have a cup of tea……
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