I love watching the painful process of people creating things.
The “making of” on TV shows and movies. I love watching artists, directors and producers thinking their work is garbage and having to question everything about where they are.
Mostly because it doesn’t make me feel so alone.
I do not consider myself an artist. I do think that I am someone who creates. Not sculptures or things made of glass. Honestly most of the things I make turn into shit, eventually.
However, I do think humans are persistent animals. A lot of us are stubborn. A lot of us have always been our own worst enemies.
Self-love goes out the window when I begin to work on something. I often think it’s the worst thing I’ll ever do.
“Why do I keep doing this to myself?”
No matter how good a thing is and no matter how many people tell me how good that thing is, I go home and I doubt myself into a corner where I really don’t want to turn around and face it. I wish I was being dramatic, but there’s not a dinner that goes by where I imagine I did everything I could to make it my best.
And then the pendulum swings back the other way. I take a step back and look at the things I’ve helped create. I look at the sweat and blood and bones of a thing. Hard work doesn’t often pay off for people, but it so many ways it has for me.
I’ve had some luck.
There have been more than a few times in my world where I have left a thing when I’ve needed to leave, and maybe times that I’ve should’ve stayed longer.
You don’t always get the opportunity to know these things in a lifetime.
Most recently, I received an award for being ‘Best Local Chef’ in my city, and other surrounding smaller cities. It was an award I had been nominated for a few times in the past years, but lost to folks who had bigger followings.
I got kind of lucky this year. Granted, most chefs believe they deserve it and they do. We all work hard. We all sacrifice for the things we want to create. I wish people knew the creative process that has to unfold for us to make things happen.
There isn’t a lot of self-love in the industry. I think maybe that’s why we do it sometimes. It feels good to love others and sometimes it’s harder to love yourself. After all, we don’t know the minds of others.
It’s easier to take care of others than it is myself. That has always been true.
That’s why burnout happens so much in my world.
Lately I am thinking about other ways to be creative with the things I am made of. Perhaps this ooey-gooey heart of mine won’t always be able to stand up to the stresses of a kitchen or the weight you have to carry.
I would love the words, “I’m tired” to not always be the first thing out of my mouth when catching up with a friend.
Being tired is like a coat.
It is just a thing that I wear. (more often for other people to see.)
When I won that award, it was fun and terrifying to speak in front of all those people. But it always feels good to win, right? It feels even better to shake hands and receive hugs from people who told me “You deserve this.”
My sister was with me that night, and as we drove home I put the windows down and put on the Cranberries, “Dreams” – because it felt a little like heaven. My sister has seen me at my darkest and I was so happy to share with her in my light.
Perfect things rarely occur, but for a moment, it felt good to have my mind rest on the things that were good and that I was good.
It all takes time.
In fact, life is harder as it goes by. But there are plenty of surprising moments where a pure joy exists and things feel elevated. Lighter.
There is breath and forgiveness,
and in between,
the creation of all things.
One response to “creation.”
I almost forgot how much I enjoy your writing. Glad I stopped by the blog today. I just finished Marisa Peer’s “I am enough” module of the RTT training. Highly recommend it. It will never matter until you know that you are enough, Josh. Write it on your mirror, your screen saver, in your car. Tattoo it on yourself if you have to do that to let it in. Those three words have changed my life. I know they can yours, too.
Sending so much love,