The Maker’s Dilemma
It is my belief that each of us invented the pot-and-wooden-spoon drum. We took something that was and made it into something else, something engaging, something bursting with joy.
All of us are makers. When a project comes along with a series of problems to be solved, we become narrowly focused. We look at what lies ahead, and we make bold, creative decisions to advance to the next stage. We love the process. We respect the process. We long to be consumed by it.
But what to make?
As I grow older, I become shrewd with time. The little ideas that dart in and out of my cerebrum are swiftly dismissed. I’m quick to snuff out anything with no apparent long-game. I ask myself, “Why should I invest my precious time in something so small, so trivial? What is to be gained?”
During Christmastime, I’m even more compelled to make. Little trinkets for friends serve as gifts, but also serve my vanity. It is a tiny ego stroke on which my inner child and outer adult can agree. It feels good to give something personal and handmade but also to receive praise for my handy work. But items made for others carry their own weight. The desire for perfection infects the process, and the unreasonable timelines set for ourselves squeeze the fun out of making. Have you ever completed a piece intended for someone special, only to feel disappointed and ashamed at the finished product? Have you aborted the gift entirely?
But perhaps it is even worse when we make for ourselves. Maybe it’s because we can’t hide our true feelings about the finished product (a skill our friends and loved ones have mastered, graciously accepting contorted lumps of clay.) Maybe it’s because it feels wasteful to create something with no purpose. Maybe it’s because it feels pompous to assign grander purpose to our lowly craft project. Whatever the reason, the mind of the maker constructs barriers to making. We focus on the product instead of the process. We are reluctant to enter a process without a clearly defined, measurable outcome. How else will we know if we’ve succeeded or failed?
These are the ideas that meandered through my mind when I was — you guessed it – making. Sitting at my parents house in Michigan while trying to get over jetlag, I decided I needed a project. A DIY gingerbread house kit did the trick; I couldn’t nitpick about having my preferred tools. I couldn’t obsess over who might see it, and best of all, the product itself, by nature, was disposable. These factors gave me the freedom to silence the obsessive-compulsive-shoulder-devil and allow me to surrender to the process. As I made, I contemplated the value of making for making’s sake. With the product out of focus, a new excitement filled me. The dilemma is not what to make, but why to make.
Making as a form of mindfulness
While I was working on my house, I observed my thoughts and allowed them to pass by- much like what I do while holding down dog in yoga class. Mindfulness and meditation have become buzzwords as of late, as if we were stumbling around before, unaware of how to properly exist. Has our generation has become truly enlightened? Doubtful, yet the rise in popularity of meditative activities suggests that we are indeed missing this kind of reprieve from our hectic, always-on lifestyles. While rhythmically piping dots of icing, I noticed the activity invited me into a calm, receptive, and meditative state. Similar activities used to be engrained in our routines, we used to engage in processes that were a little boring, yet required a certain amount of skill and attention. In the modern era, time consuming, repetitive tasks have been designed out of our lifestyles. Everything we would’ve made for ourselves now comes ready-made. We’ve gotten so good at eliminating friction that we purposefully engage in activities that create friction so that we may relearn how to persevere. Making, like yoga, forces us to embrace the friction, redirect it, and use it to build strength.
Making to unplug
With the foundations of my gingerbread house in place, I began to tackle the detail work. Icing clogs, mislaid candies, and fine adjustments had my fingers completely covered in sugary white frosting before long. There is little that will occupy me well enough to keep me from habitually reaching for my iPhone, but sweet sticky fingers prompted me to frost instead of checking my texts. I noticed how often I felt the urge to check, and how often I dismissed the urge to carry on with the task at hand. We know our phones are distracting, but day-to-day, we do not work with the same integrity as we do when we make. It’s hardly an interruption to answer a text message while drafting an email. But when making, interruptions are costly. You can’t stop sewing mid seam. You can’t stop painting mid stroke. And you certainly can’t stop piping mid cross-hatch. The moment when you recognize the importance of not being interrupted is about when you realize that you have indeed entered into a process. The process has momentum. The process has rhythm. The process has direction. Seasoned makers know it’s best to embrace the current rather than swim upstream.
Making to honor heritage and tradition
As I piped away at the gingerbread house, my family members passed by and chatted. My aunt shared that my grandmother had a knack for making fondant and candies. It warmed my heart to think that my small activity would have made her smile. Making can be precious. My grandma, grandpa, and great-grandmother painted. I paint. Even if no natural ability was inherited, at least they passed on their joy. Their joy gives me permission to feel joy myself. I like to think that I’m picking up where they left off, and their absence encourages me to keep going. For many of us, traditions aren’t tied to our culture or heritage anymore. But making, in so many ways, is a tradition in and of itself. The techniques you employ had an origin, and you honor the origin and evolution when you make. So make to feel connected, to be a part of the continuum.
Making for creative confidence
Making creative decisions is just plain hard. It involves being self-critical, having a vision, and having an idea of how you are going to achieve that vision. And something usually goes wrong, too. The process is sequential, you move from phase to phase, and you are stuck with the creative decisions you make along the way. It is utter agony. But as you move from phase to phase, you are forced to make creative decisions, one after the next. And that, my friend, is practice. How do you build confidence in your ability to do something? You practice. To build confidence in your ability as a creator, you must create. Creative confidence will infiltrate your life in unexpected ways– because the more creative confidence you have, the more you will recognize opportunities to be creative. So draw that billygoat in mayonnaise on your sandwich, or close your email with a pun. Life is more fun and less stressful with more confidence. Remember that as you make. You may not have much now, but you’ll have a little more later on because you made today. After all, making a gingerbread house gave me the creative confidence to write this blog!
Making for joy
The word joy is tossed around a lot this time of year. Joy, by definition, is “a feeling of great pleasure and happiness.” Notice it is “pleasure and happiness.” It’s the combination of the two. As we get older, pleasure and happiness, on their own, become more complex, more difficult. Appearing together, as joy, they are easy! They are pure. Joy is both pleasure and happiness, unburdened by guilt, skepticism, or doubt. So make, and find pleasure in the act, happiness in the moments, and joy throughout the process. Find pleasure in actively using your skills. Laugh at your mistakes. There is much joy to be found in making.
By valuing the process appropriately, the product is knocked from its pedestal. The barriers to making are breached. The mind is primed for making. So go forth and make, my friends!