"This courage will not be the opposite of despair. We shall often be faced with despair, as indeed every sensitive person has been during the last several decades in this country."
-Rollo May, The courage to create (1975)
Doubts and Whys
I have the phrase take risks on my vision board. I was thinking on Monday morning, do I really want to do this? And when I get a bit nervous I tend to tap several fingers on my thumb to calm down and sometimes pace back and forth. The fear and doubt haven’t gone away, but I want to trust the initial excitement of when this idea came up. So, alas I shall take some risks in the next couple of months. Let’s see what happens.
Amid the doubts, I'm asking myself the following questions as I proceed with this experiment:
Can I be honest? Can I just show up and be honest? Like the podcast, I want to write to the parts of me that are experiencing despair, fear, grief, and deep insecurity. Then the date approached and I started to get nervous and scared again. My inner critic showed up. "You haven't even arrived. Don't show your process! Only show growth when you’re amazing!"
But that has never been my "why." And the point of this public sketchbook is not to show a pristine and polished version of myself. As Rollo May mentions, I simply want to listen to my own being so I don't betray myself. It is only day 3 of this experiment, or at least at the time of starting this draft. So far, I wonder if this project is just about documenting how I'm listening, paying attention, and sharing what I'm observing that makes me feel something...makes me feel alive.
Yet, my friend Doubt has not only visited me, but so has their distant cousin Insecurity, especially around being chosen. Who am I to share or document this journey? I don't think I can answer that question. Yet, if I come back to this idea of being chosen, I'm trying to choose myself each time I return to the studio, each time I sit to write, each time I grab my camera, each time I open my sketchbook. Each time…does that sound like a prayer?
I tend to look at how my mom holds a rosary in her hands. How each bead moves through her fingers each time she says a phrase.
One of the questions our teacher had asked in a class I'm currently taking (by the way this course is one of the inspirations of this experiment), is "Why photography?" It was a writing prompt from a Photography Sketchbook class where we’re invited to respond in our sketchbook.
Part of what I wrote in my sketchbook was photography…it feels like I'm praying. The act of pressing down on the shutter button felt like a rosary bead moving through my fingers. Where my mom might say a phrase that connects her to the divine, I meet a moment of reverence that connects me to the divine in the ordinary.
Our instructor asked us to write a list of our supplies in our sketchbook. Here are some that I use with a guest appearance by a little furry friend.
Stage 4
So this may lead to the question: Why "Just Play?" Why now?
I honestly got this idea because I’ve been having a blast in a course I’m taking through the Houston Center of Photography called PhotographySketchbook taught by Kelly Webeck. I signed up for this with the intention of taking it after the class I was in earlier this year, but I got news that it was canceled. I was devastated but like I usually do, if there's a class that for whatever reason I cannot take I’ll try to create my own syllabus to study the subject.
That plan ended shortly after I found a book titled Photographers’ Sketchbooks. I got an email that the center was offering the course in June and they asked if I was still interested. I immediately said yes! And so far it’s been a highlight of my year.
To think, I was debating if I should still take it. Because around late April, we learned my mom has Stage 4 Chronic Kidney Disease. And for those not familiar with that, it’s essentially the last stage before kidney failure and the stage before one may have to seriously consider dialysis. I still don’t really, truly understand what’s happening. All I know is my mom, a retired nurse, was adamant about not wanting to do dialysis because of what she had witnessed during her time as a nurse.
When I attended a Chronic Kidney class that was like 3-4 hours, they provided her labs for the past several years. And then that’s when everything hit me. I could finally see the numbers, the patterns, and the trends. All I could think about was, When am I going to lose my best friend in the entire world? I can’t lose her…I can’t lose her. I can’t lose my mom.
I decided to pause as many things as I could so I could focus on my mom’s appointments, further understand nutrition, how I could cook, go to the gym with my mom, ER visits and just support my best friend in navigating the shock.
As you can imagine, this period hasn’t been easy. Every moment started to feel like my mom’s life was in every decision I made and I didnt want to fuck up. I couldn’t fuck up. Granted, no one, absolutely no one put this pressure on me. Only I did. But as you’ll see. That wasn’t sustainable.
So yes, everything began to feel jarring. My mom is my world and I could not imagine a planet where my mom didn’t exist. At this time, peoples’ laughs felt foreign. People talking felt like I had my noise cancelling headphones. I couldn't really hear them. For some time it was hard to be in the world and connect with others. I write this now maybe in a calm manner. Yet, for the first several weeks I cried everyday. I cried with my mother as we walked. How many more walks would we have? I cried as she answered my questions. Would I be able to ask everything that mattered? I cried in the car before staying by my mom’s side in the ER the entire night. Why is the doctor being so rude right now? Doesn’t matter, I need to ask my questions even if I’m crying as I’m asking them.
I've come back crawling to my altar after being away for sometime. I'm not going to lie and say I don't ask for more time, but I mainly ask for support and guidance to navigate this chapter and to have the ability help others as well.
But, then there’s the not-so-pretty moments of mine. Sometimes my patience isn’t there with my dog and I find myself yelling at her to stop barking because I’m feeling irritated. But she’s barking because we haven’t gone on longer walks like we used to….sometimes there’s take out…and no cooking of whole food plant based meals that take into account protein, phosphorus, sodium, potassium, etc. Sidenote, after I yelled at my dog, I promised I’d take her hiking and to the park at least three times a week. So far, I’ve kept my promise to my other best friend.
Another list we were asked to place in our sketchbook. Kelly’s class has blown my mind in terms of all the things I can do. I decided to print out some of the posters and covers for the shows and films I’m inspired by. I learned from this exercise that I’m still mainly madly in love with animation and probably always will be. I also learned I’m exploring what artists I’m drawn to or have always been drawn to in this stage of my life.
Play and Grief
I wasn't going to take the Photography Sketchbook class because I wanted to be able to make sure I could keep up with caretaking, my clients, and other aspects of life.
It's become a ritual to ask in the morning and evening, “Mom, how's your blood sugar and blood pressure?” To hear that they're stable and then to receive new lab results that certain numbers are still seriously bad and not trending where we'd like feels defeating, discouraging, and scary. I just want my mom to be okay. And so that occupies a lot of my head space when I’m not working.
Amidst feeling like a zombie and walking aimlessly everywhere for sometime, I decided to come to mahjong more often than I usually did. I just knew I needed rhythm, play, and a weekly place to just focus on something else for about an hour or more.
Then I said yes to the sketchbook. Then to the dance intensive, Then to training for a marathon. I just wanted to push myself in every way for some reason: mentally, emotionally, and physically. Maybe because I started to feel like I’m disappearing. Like I’m not really here. I have felt the most alive in those moments, which in turn have helped me to be present with each experience related to my mom and in sitting with others as they move through their lives.
The lunches, the dinners, the K dramas, her laughs, her jokes, her mannerisms, her tears, her fears, …let alone everything else I was responsible for…I could be present for them because I also carved time for play.
I want my mom, like I want for my communities, like I want for this world, I want us all to have a quality life where we can live with dignity, agency, autonomy, freedom, and respect.
So while my heart continues to break, I also hear my heart constantly saying:
I need to play.
I need to play.
I need to play.
I need to play.
I need to play.
I need to
play.
I started wanting to document experiences in the sketchbook and cross-pollinate ideas. I took a lot from Andye’s dance intensive. She reminded me and other students about expanding our vocabulary and thinking beyond training in foundation to include music. She encouraged curiosity and introspection, which led me to take her teachings and Kelly’s teachings and create lists of music, musicians, dancers, genres, etc. I would like to ask myself why do I like this and what specifically do I like about this? So many more gems, but I’m just grateful for the teachers I’ve met along this journey of play!
A Public Sketchbook
So here I am. Here we are. Still in it. And there's my experiment.
I’m reminding myself that a sketchbook can, and some may even say that it’s supposed to, be messy. So I’m not promising you a clean finished product. I’m promising to show up while hard things are still happening.
Whoever decides to join me on this journey, is simply invited into my process. My intention is not to offer grand conclusions, truths, teachings, lessons, nor tips. I won’t press publish when things are perfect or when I’ve figured everything out. I won’t press publish when our grief is “over.”
Maybe all I can offer is showing you how I practice being alive while carrying this period of uncertainty, confusion, grief, and love. Maybe I can show you my reverence for the so-called ordinary life. Maybe I can show you by playing I’m not escaping. I’m just learning a different way of being present with all of life. Maybe instead of declaring a capital T truth, I’m just documenting what I’m finding that resonates in this stage of my life and might resonate with you. Maybe I can show you what it's like to be in the process of becoming something instead of when someone has already arrived.
So is this project about capital A art? Is this about photography? Is this about creativity?
Maybe the last one, but with everything that I'm holding/carrying its a bit of desperation around keeping my capacity to stay and feel alive during a season of grief. It’s simply a practice to help me connect to wonder, play, beauty, curiosity, what really matters, and the big picture. Dance. Photography. Museum visits. Films. Writing. Mahjong. Running. Drawing. Hiking. Gym. Music. And those I have yet to list or encounter are maybe practices of helping me protect and preserve something else I don't want to lose.
This project is not for claims that I'm the best photographer, creative, artist, dancer, or anything. Though this process has been immensely life-giving, it’s also brought out some of my deepest insecurities. For some reason, I often struggle with a question of belonging. Do I belong in this room? That's an issue I continue to unpack in therapy. But sometimes that question of belonging is tied to a need to impress to belong, a need to be chosen to belong, a need to be extraordinary to belong.
Yet, I didn't name this experiment "Just prove yourself."
I said "Just Play."
I didn't say "Just have the right answer" or "Just be Extraordinary."
I said "Just Play."
I used to think there's a specific way I need to show up during these times. But I'm learning, maybe the deepest contribution I can provide right now is probably the opposite of what the world seems to demand of me.
In a world that seems to only value and emphasize immediacy and urgency, I struggle to say I can only offer you something slower.
I can only offer you right now what I'm noticing.
What I'm bearing witness too.
What happens when I stay with something and maybe I can help you remember, too, what it feels like to still be alive in the middle of difficult times.
Maybe, ultimately, or probably for no reason at all...a way of me practicing courage right now is learning to listen by playing.
Some studies. One inspired by watching a spider crawl across the wall. The last one of me sitting cross legged on the gym floor with the weight cut out and replaced with the words:
I’m still here.
my mother holding a plant…you should hear how she speaks with them. :)
If you have any feedback, would love to hear your thoughts! Please feel free to email me at sandy@unconventionalfolks.com.