 |
Hopefully, your metaphorical mountain
has less
metaphorical dragons. |
Yesterday, Kadie talked about
NeilGaiman's method for finding your mountain. While this sounds fairly
simple, much like identifying what you want to be when you grow up,
it gets significantly harder to do once you've graduated.
We're
here to tell you – it's okay to embrace the process.
In
photography, sometimes you have to wait until the light is right. In
painting, the canvas may need to dry before you can apply more color.
In writing, you can go through drafts and drafts (and drafts) before
you come up with something you want to share with anybody. Dance and
theater and comedy and music all require hours of rehearsal and
preparation.
Why should it be any different in life?
We
have this narrative in our culture, that once you're an adult you
need to have everything figured out – where you're going, who you
are, why you're here. We've touched on it before in this blog, here
and here. Artist after artist after artist has also challenged this
assumption, from Jack Kerouac's
On
the Road to Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx's
Avenue Q, to Lena Dunham's
Tiny Furniture, to
every Adam Sandler movie ever. And that just covers a few of the
works from American pop culture.
The reality is, finding your
mountain takes time – sometimes a lot of time. I first tried my
hand at Jackie Battenfield's exercise about four years ago – and my
answers were dramatically different from what I'd say today. I was
planning on going to grad school – NOPE – I was planning on
becoming a professor (probably not), and I was planning on having all
that stuff accomplished by the time I turned 28, so I could get to
settling down and having one of those baby things my friends keep
talking about, but still keep up with my thriving art career.
While
none of those goals are on my horizon today, at least not in the form
I originally anticipated (Would someone please tell my 22-year-old
self that building a career takes more than a couple of years?
Thanks), I'm still glad I travelled toward what I thought was my
mountain – again, and again, and again. The reason? Each time I
started working towards my then-goal, it brought me to a new
perspective in my life – at which point I'd spot a goal that I
wanted even more. At 16, I knew I wanted to be an artist, but I had
no idea what that looked like. At 26, I still don't really know what
that looks like, but I know that it involves having time for my
family and friends and making enough money to support my foodie fine
dining habits. This is the hill I'm on today, and I think I know what
mountain I'm aiming for – but that might change at the next
overlook.
And that's okay.