Buy your own Pony.

Readers, dry your invisible tears, gather your invisible gophers—I’m back.  Before I so rudely went AWOL, I went on at some length about the invisible boundaries that hold us back—how we are limited by what we imagine to be possible and how we often wait for others to reward us when we do what we think we’re supposed to.  And sometimes that doesn’t happen.  Once you leave school there are very few gold stars and no one will buy you a pony for following the rules and staying in line.  In fact, I lamented the often whack-a-mole-like relationship between what we do and what happens: hit a gopher here and another one randomly pops up elsewhere.  Happenstance.  Little plastic gophers of chaos.

So then what?  What do we do?  I think especially, but not only, of artists: We do a lot of work without pay, we see very talented individuals get passed over again and again while less talented people breakthrough to exceptional success, we keep expecting some sort of break just around the corner but have no guarantee of it, we watch the digital world create so much opportunity for art but don’t see how it will fund artists, and choosing to continue on our path is a constant exercise of hope in defiance of the invisible, more traditional boundaries that surround us. 

How do I keep going when I’m not booking anything?  When I’m not making money?  When another grant proposal gets rejected?  When someone asks me “But what do you really do?” When I see younger, less experienced people get bigger better parts than me?  When every creative endeavour I begin requires so much work with so little promise of return that I don’t know where to spend my energy?  When I start to believe that I’m just not good enough, I’m not working hard enough, and maybe I don’t even like what I do?

I don’t know.  But these are the things I whisper to myself in the dark of night. 

1.  Water your own garden. 

It can be so difficult to keep going when you face rejection, criticism, or another hope dashed.  And truthfully, it would be easier to stop—to go get a safer, more traditional job.  The world is hungry for art—but nobody gives a shit if you do it or not.    Annie Dillard writes about how free a writer is “because you select your materials, invent your task, and pace yourself.”  AMAZING!!  But she goes on to say, “The obverse of this freedom, of course, is that your work is so meaningless, so fully for yourself alone, and so worthless to the world, that no one except you cares whether you do it well, or ever.” (The Writing Life, 11)  And that’s true.  No one really cares whether you write soul-rending poems, bring audiences to tears on stage, or blow out incredible tunes that make us feel the world in a new way.  People may love it when you give it to them, or they may not.  And because no one is waiting around for your great piece of art, no one is going to push you to keep going when you’re tired and defeated.  Whether you write in the early mornings when your children are still asleep, or make music on the weekends after a long grueling week, or make your art your livelihood, what you’re doing is off the grid—there’s no simple plan or map to follow.  No one will value your small successes or feel the pain of your very many defeats.  You’ll have friends and encouragers, sure.  But at the end of the day, your garden of creativity is completely your own.   And it will die without a little love.  So water your own garden.  Encourage yourself, take care of your own art, and create the space and time and refreshment you need.

2.  Don’t wait for Permission

One of my wonderful acting mentors, Gina Chiarelli, once said “Don’t wait for someone to give you permission to do something you know perfectly well you can do yourself.”  Like watering your own garden, you need to take ownership over your own life.  So often I go in for auditions and desperately want to do a good job and get “picked.”  It starts to feel like I’m just waiting for someone else to tell me that I’m good enough.  I want to please the casting director, my teacher, or my agent—and when I don’t get the job I feel shitty and beat myself up.  I want someone to recognize, validate and reward me, instead of knowing I come to the table with something unique and valuable to contribute, that I’ve worked hard and can trust my own instincts—whether it’s what they happen to want right now or not.   I’m not saying that getting parts or grants or publishing deals is unrelated to your talent and hard work…I’m just saying that whack-a-mole applies here too.  Sometimes you’re too blonde, or your book is too science-fictiony, or your music is too up-beat for the particular set of judges looking at it this round.   Maybe you’re too tall to play against the lead, or they gave a jazz grant last year, or they had a lot of applicants and it was basically a numbers game.  That doesn’t mean you’re not good.

I just found out I didn’t get a small part on a new pilot I was up for, but I did get a small part on a Christmas movie.  I had a good audition for both.  So, you win some, you lose some.  Chin up.  You are not every role you do or don’t get.

3.  Buy your own Pony

I’ll admit, this makes me tired.  I really just want someone else to give me a pony.  Hire me to play a role in your new comedy, or write for a hit sitcom, or premiere some fantastic play.  Give me a Jessie.  Or a Pulitzer.  Or just give me money.  But I can’t control what other people do.  I can study and write and network, but the truth is, if you want rewards for all the hard work you put in, go get them.  Create the role you want to play.  Write the story you want to hear.  Stage the play you want to star in.  It’s exhausting and daunting but it is the reality—no one is going to do it for you, so stop waiting and buy your own pony.  I won’t even judge you if you give yourself a papier-mâché Oscar.

 

These are all mental shifts for me.  Mostly they mean I can’t blame anyone else or expect anything from anyone else.  That’s hard to get used to when you were the keener at the front of the class.  But it’s tremendously freeing too—I don’t need your permission, your validation or your approval.  My art and my self worth exist outside of those things.  You can reject my wonderful children’s story, and I won’t fall apart—I’ll edit and submit somewhere new.  You can hire someone else for the lead in one of my favourite plays and I’ll still come and see it, knowing my interpretation would have been different but valid.  I will write my own hilarious sitcom and you will rue the day you missed your chance with me. 

Sigh….I’m not there yet.  I bruise pretty easily.  But I also bounce back…and I’m working on it.  Because damn it if I’m gonna let those little gophers get me down.

Comments

[Michelle]

Beautifully put. Thank you for reminding all of us how self-actualized we really need to be to live this life.