Any worthwhile pursuit necessarily requires passion, grit and determination. Most likely for years, probably decades. On my shittier days, that slog can feel endless. As if, no matter the dedication, the care, the sustained effort and love, I can’t get closer to where I want to be – to projects that feel fulfilling and uplifting; to getting paid properly; to work with inspiring, boundary-pushing collaborators; to getting the recognition I so crave; to not be called ‘green’ when I’ve been doing this for 20 years.
This feeling of perceived stasis is terrifying, but mostly it’s exhausting. Because who has the energy to continuously bash their head against a wall without the guarantee that eventually your skull will crack? And truthfully, there isn’t ever really a guarantee. Just a blind trust that somehow, eventually, the passion and grit and determination will get you somewhere, to that place in your faraway vision where it feels like you’ve arrived.
And yet, do any of us ever arrive? Should we even try to? Maybe the most compelling thing about creativity and meaningful pursuits is that you’re never truly finished, there’s always a place more bold, more innovative, more challenging beyond the horizon of today. And the intense desire to discover and delve into that shimmering landscape propels you forward, despite the setbacks, whatever the expense. Ideally, what halts your continued growth is just death.
On the grim days, I hate the seemingly insurmountable effort required to move. I resent it, I resent myself for wanting it, and I wonder what it could all possibly be worth. But there’s also an enduring glimmer. Most days it’s a glowing beacon in sharp focus, but when I am in the dark it’s more mysterious, peripheral: a tiny, glinting reminder of just how beautiful creating feels, how spinning magic from air is possible. So for now, and for a while once more, I’ve graduated from despair. But when the dim encroaches, I’ll always let the glimmer guide me.