Who Cares!
How a new hobby taught me how to care less.
During our annual holiday break last year at Struck, I started painting.
Yes, that was 6 months ago. And yes, I sound 80 years old.
I painted a little in college but never since. I started again because my husband began sewing during the break and I needed a hobby.
Okay, now we sound like an 80-year-old couple.
I quickly decided to paint holiday gifts for some family members. It was fun. They weren’t perfect and I didn’t care. I didn’t know if I’d give them to anyone. It was just so nice to not have defined parameters, deadlines or other’s goals in mind. I completely released myself to pure, personal creativity.
After I saw how appreciated these personal gifts were to my family, I kept going. I painted a silly caricature of Ric Grefé to thank him for leading AIGA for over 20 years. And another for Denise Wood, the COO, of her beloved dog — the unofficial mascot of AIGA. I had fun with these and just packaged them up and sent them away. No hesitations.
There were many mistakes and things I could have changed. I knew my paintings might never be hung on a wall — but I didn’t let that stop me. I’m normally so controlled and so prepared. I think everything through before it sees the light of day.
While talking about this change in approach to my mentor at Struck, she asked (as she normally does)…
“Why now? What’s changed?”
I’d like to say that I had some existential revelation. But the answer was obvious: I grew up.
Yes, confidence comes with age. But, I wasn’t necessarily confident about my paintings. I just didn’t care. Instead of worrying about what was wrong, I was only mindful of what was in front of me. Painting was fun and personal, and I wanted to share it with the people who I thought about while creating.
We worry about so many superficial things in our lives. Money. Cars. Appearances. The time spent painting allowed me to think about what’s truly important and valuable. My relationships. Experiences. Continued growth and learning. Maybe I’m a more confident 80-year-old man.
Or maybe, by caring less, I’m caring just enough.
P.S. I wrote this article in less than 10 minutes.Who cares!
Looking for more insights, facebooking, twittering, ramblings, musings and other thoughts? Follow our Greater Than collection.
