On Starting Over
A dew laden funnel-web in the grasslands of the Mashpee National Wildlife Refuge. I’ve found inspiration in the courage and determination of the grass spider to continually start over each time a web is destroyed.
It’s not easy to start over. It just isn’t. You’ve invested the energy and time into something and you’re left facing the prospect that despite all that, it’s time to go in a different direction and start from the beginning. I’ve been having to face this realization on several fronts recently. While unnerving, I’m beginning to embrace it and welcome opportunities to start fresh.
Several months ago I was working on the haddock project and had taken the project all of the way through the graphite drawing stage. Sitting down to start the coloring phase I had this nagging feeling that the drawing wasn’t right. I can’t describe what was wrong with it, maybe it wasn’t ugly enough? Try as I did to convince myself that I could live with the drawing, I knew I couldn’t. I had to start over. This was the furthest into a drawing project that I’d ever decided to start over. I should have been pissed, frustrated, overwhelmed. I wasn’t. It was oddly liberating to throw away the encumbrances of inertia and do what felt right, regardless of the investment to date.
There are parallels to the haddock project and my personal life. Starting over has become a persistent theme for me of late. This summer I retired as a federal fisheries scientist and I’m now embarking on a career as an artist. It’s a profession I know nothing about. I should be scared shitless. I’m not. I’m embracing the process of learning something new and the opportunity to change how I approach things.
Like the initial haddock drawing, I felt as though I rushed through the first half of my life just to get it done without sufficient consideration of the process. I had successfully checked the boxes - education, career, house, family - but yet, something wasn’t right. My approach to life, to drawing, to everything - it wasn’t right. Check the box, onto the next accomplishment, onto the next fish … you get the gist.
Sitting down with a blank paper as I started over on the haddock project I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t be concerned with finishing the drawing, or what the finished drawing would even look like. I wouldn’t cloud my vision with preconceptions. I’d just do - sit, observe, draw, meditate, repeat - put the work in, trust the process, and let the drawing unfold on its own. Slowly, methodically, the haddock came into focus. I was thrilled with the final drawing - for such an ugly fish, it was a pretty cute little haddock if I do say so.
This small exercise of slowing down, and trusting and enjoying the process left a big impression on me. So much so that I’ve been trying to bring it into other areas of my life. It’s been particularly applicable as I begin my new career. When I start to doubt myself, I’m learning to show up, put my nose down, get to work, and just trust the process. By focusing on what I put in, and not worrying about the expected outcomes, I’ve freed myself from what I have no control over. Starting over is daunting, but I’m embracing the journey and looking forward to it. I have no idea where it will go, but in many ways it doesn’t matter. It’s about the path, not the destination.
