Get Painting!

Her house was a dream come true. Everything was neat and tidy, and in the kitchen and closets there were labels for everything. “There’s a place for everything and everything is in its place,” she said proudly. I was as troubled by the organization as I was inspired. I felt there was room to breathe, but also felt suffocated.

I remember a time when I was setting up a new studio. I bought shelves and containers, as well as labels and sharpies. I spent weeks putting my pastels here and oils there, while also making sure my books were arranged by subject in descending height order. When I was done, I remember a friend’s reaction: “So, have you done any painting?”

Regardless of whether we’re artists or not, the desire to organize and make sense of the world affects us all. We desperately try to put the people we know and the things that happen into a system that brings a sense of order. There are all sorts of containers and labels. The problem comes when we run out of containers, or our sharpies run out of ink. Eventually, judging every person, place, or thing, or feasting on the newest gossip stops working. Creating stories or surrounding ourselves with people with the same world view only gives us temporary breathing room. Organizing life in such ways reduces life’s complexities. We spend so much time making sense of our lives we don’t live.

I have a friend who likes to say we need to “live with the questions,” and another who says we need to “live in the mystery.” It sounded New Age to me when I first heard it, but I’ve come to embrace its truth. Instead of finding a box for every person, instead of creating artificial explanations, instead of ignoring contradictions, I want to accept the incongruities and embrace the messiness. Instead of organizing, I want to get painting.

September 11, 2023

It was a day I said I’d never forget. I was called to the phone in my dorm hallway and heard the news my dog had been killed by a car. I no longer remember the date.

It was a bright clear spring day when I won the award. I wanted to scream with joy. “Clearly, I’ll never forget today,” I whispered to a friend. I no longer even think of the day.

Remembering is important, but no matter how good we think we are at it, no matter how tragic or joyous the moment, time fades our memories. It takes effort to remember. It takes practice to make it a habit. But it’s worth it.

Today is a day when I never want to forget what happened years ago. The world stopped, the world changed forever, and yet with every passing year my memories fade, and I almost forget.  

Almost.

In seminary we were taught the importance of remembering in the Jewish faith. To remember was to re-member, as in bring back, to put back together. To remember someone who died is to bring them into the present. To recall a significant event is to bring it (and its significance) forward.

Today, I re-member the tragedy of 9/11. I remember the sadness. I remember the awe in which I stood when hearing about the courage and bravery that fateful day. I never want to forget. I always want to re-member the events and people of that September 11th years ago.

Following the Turtles

I recently rented a condo by the beach where there was a notice stating all porch lights must be turned off before bed. “It’s because of the turtles,” a resident informed me. It seems the dunes are full of turtle eggs, and when the baby turtles break through their shells, they head toward the sea. Lights from the homes on the beach confuse them and lead them astray.

Although I’ve never witnessed this inspirational migration back to the sea, back to their true home, I couldn’t help but think about the turtles and how much they have to teach me. Thinking of them breaking through the shells, I could almost hear the cracking that comes when we break through the confines of our old lives and enter the open space of new life. Imagining their first steps out of the shells and into the sand, I remembered the initial steps I’ve taken when venturing from the known world to the new, and as I pictured them making their way toward the sea, I marveled at their ability to know in what direction they should head, the direction of their true home. I also knew, too well, the danger of misleading lights that can lead one astray.

Long after returning from the beach, I’ve thought about the turtles. Like them, I want the courage to break through the shells that confine me and enter the unknown of new life. I want to take comfort in their relentless perseverance when the sand around me makes my steps difficult. And, most of all, I want to head toward the sea. Too often, I’ve headed toward the seductive lights on shore. More times than I can count, I’ve become lost. But in my heart, somewhere deeper than my clever, fickle mind, I know where my true home lies. Because of the turtles, I’m inspired to try again.