Allowance, Part Two
Still failing, but with better vibes
For a while now, coming up on 4 years, my personal and professional purpose could be described as functioning. For a long time I couldn’t do most of the things that would be vaguely described as a lived life. Not a well-lived life, just a lived one. Getting out of bed was hard, showering was hard, getting out of the house was hard; eating would’ve been too had copious weed gummies not been my main coping method for all those disappointments. I couldn’t function as a person, there was too much stuff standing in the way.
Gradually, and then swiftly, things improved. I fixated on functioning because it described my ambition to simply be able to place one foot in front of the other, day after day. It didn’t much matter where the foot landed, or even what direction it traveled, so long as there was momentum. A bad day spent living, as Matthew McConaughey would describe it, was preferable to a day stagnating.
This has worked. Momentum has built. The direction of travel has stabilized towards a life and purpose that is both steady and fulfilling. I now have goals: improve as an artist, be kind and available to those around me, eat well, stretch, etc. But note that those goals don’t have a prescribed endpoint: they are rather mere ambitions in the vague direction of progress; they are tolerant not necessarily of failure but rather ill-defined success; they occasionally allow shoddy results in the name of ‘at least it’s something.’
Recently I’ve been entertaining some doubts (a task anathema to functioning) that this pattern might have run it’s course. There are no (major) problems, but a plethora of solutions might be making themselves known.
Maverick signed us up for swim classes a while ago. 30 minutes in the evening, twice a week. Going in, I harbored no particular doubts about my swimming ability: growing up my family had an incredible backyard pool, and to a certain degree I’ve always felt comfortable in the water. Certainly happy. As an adult most of my time in a pool has been with my nieces and nephews; they’re very young, and don’t venture far from the edge or into the deep end; I’m the pleasant buoy throwing them around, splashing, making waves, winning cannonball contests.
But that first night in the lap pool was genuinely scary. It’s only a 25 meter pool, but the deep end is deep. I’m not an idiot, I knew that…but still, it’s deep. And how the fuck do you breathe? There’s water everywhere! It gets in your nose! Your mouth! Yes, I know the 75 year old two lanes over has been doing laps for half an hour, but how!? It’s so hard! I can’t stop panting, my head is woozy, I’m fat, I’m pale, this sucks! This is a shameless brag, but I’ve squatted 500lbs. That first night in the pool, even with two lifeguards, was far more nerve-wracking. Eventually the panic subsided, and the classes that followed helped sharpen things: I’m a much better swimmer than I was some months ago, mission accomplished.
After just a few minutes in the pool I realized what a liability I would be in the case of an emergency: if something were to happen to a niece or nephew I’m not sure I’d be much help. I was chastened. The main takeaway of that first session was not fear: it was the simple knowledge that I was bad at something.
However, in contrast to most other previous instances of ineptitude, I was not ashamed. I didn’t the time or the luxury to be. Far more important than whatever personal feelings I had was the desire, the need, to be better. It was judgment-free. It didn’t much matter if I sucked now, the far more pressing issue was simply improving. Note the difference between this mindset and functioning: where one tolerates momentum no matter the direction, the other requires a conviction and purpose towards improvement. Not mastery, but practice.
It’s been genuinely revelatory to explore this distinction, between functioning and practicing. In my artistic life there’s been a big change from last winter to now. Last year I, rather unexpectedly, got accepted into a number of summer art markets and fairs, and my main concern was having enough work finished to furnish a 10’x10’ booth. I didn’t want my presentation to appear limited, under-thought, or too amateur-ish. So I entered production mode. I don’t want to say that my work wasn’t created with intention and care, but I focused each week on making at least 4 pieces. I’d work on them as one might batch bake bread. There were economies of scale. It was a thrilling time, a creatively vibrant time, but it necessarily involved dividing my thoughts and focus and energy. And again, to a certain degree, what mattered was not so much that each step I took was considered, but more that a step was taken. Art as function as art.
This year I’ve slowed down: swimming beget a change in mindset. The verb is practicing. The drag queen Raja says she likes to “luxuriate in the process” when she’s designing outfits (please please please watch the clip, it’s only 30 seconds. Yes I’m still sober.) Luxuriating is more glam, but it’s functionally a synonym of practicing. These days instead of functioning I sit and accept the process in front of me. I accept I’m bad at a lot of stuff and engaging in both the good and the bad might be a pain in the ass. I don’t like toxic positivity: sometimes the art I make sucks, or these blogs are impossible to write and make me feel like a goober, or the photos I post in Insta don’t look right. But that’s practice baby. The solution is not dive in further, work until it hurts or miraculously succeeds, slamming my head into the proverbial wall to assuage my Catholic Guilt that the fundamental problem is me or my lack of ability.
Now it’s take time, re-assess, re-focus. If the fact I made a bad piece is accounted for, a mere acknowledgment of my inadequacy heightens the desire to make something good, not just plug away.
Functioning is important. I don’t like AA, but the ‘one day at a time’ mantra is profound. I’m also not suddenly ‘cured’ because I’ve chilled my vibe: the version of Steven that can’t leave the house will, probably always, be nipping at my heels (see #9).
A 10/10 day is rare, and should be celebrated. A 1/10 is rare, and should be feared and warded against. But if I’m hoping to average around a 7, that necessitates the odd 3 or 4. I’ll repeat what I said a couple blogs ago: chill the fuck out a bit.