Uncomfortable Doesn't Have to Mean Wrong

what I'm learning about being stretched

Dear Reader,

For the last few years I’ve had a pretty consistent creative life. I’ve taken a year-long art class for three years in a row, which has acted as a metronome to my rhythm of making things. For two years I’ve written this newsletter every week. I’ve had a margin that didn’t exist when my four kids were younger or when my chronic pain was at its worst.

Back in August I disrupted the rhythm when I said yes to teaching theater again. Theater is what I studied in high school and college and I’ve taught it on and off over the years. Since stepping back into my theater shoes, it’s been six months of transition, of stretching, and also joy.

Now we’re moving into the part of the year where we begin to rehearse a production. Today I will send out the cast list. As a teacher and as a parent, I know that it will ignite some dreams and possibly hurt some. It’s the unavoidable nature of the thing but it’s still a dreaded step for most theater teachers.

Right now the production is a blank canvas and the pressure makes my chest feel tight and my stomach squirm. My body knows how to set off multiple alarms even when I’m busy telling myself I’m fine.

Last night I texted a friend about how I was feeling and by the end I found that naming some things had helped. The tiger perched on my chest was a little smaller and less menacing. I thought I’d share a slightly edited version of those thoughts here, in hopes they might help you name some things, too.

Whether you are in the thick of a new job, a life transition, whether you are an artist or a parent or something else entirely, maybe there is something here for you.

A sketch from last year.

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My text started out like a confession:

I miss my art time and my writing time and the margin I used to have.

The corner of my kitchen table and my art cart (a.k.a my studio)

The text continued:

I know what I’m doing now is still a form of creating, just a different form with less to show in my hands right away. It’s an extended birthing process. And it makes sense that I would long to go back to my little corner of the kitchen table with my art supplies and no expectations from anyone but myself.

As I do this new (but also old) thing, I’m trying to sit in the uncomfortable and not name it bad or wrong just because it’s uncomfortable. When I said yes, I always knew this part was coming. This intensified season, living in a space where my head is full (to overflowing) for the foreseeable future. It’s one of the main things that frightened me about saying yes. To go to bed and wake up with the same thoughts cycling, always solving the next problem. To feel the loss of a mental margin and a time margin. And to know I chose to enter this versus the seasons I’ve been dropped into tight spaces with no say in the matter.

This is definitely a newly acquired skill for me, to name the uncomfortable feeling without giving into the need to move out of it as quickly as possible (instinct: run!).

Today I had to write myself a little reminder of things I knew to be true when I was reaching a breaking point:

I don’t have to know how this will all turn out. I just have to make this decision and then continue to explore and be curious and play.

I don’t have to get all of the decisions “right” (even if there is such a thing and I don’t think there is). I might make my decisions and realize another way could have been different but different doesn’t need to equal wrong.

There are many ways to put this puzzle together that all display a story. (Referring here to the elements of a theater production.)

Being uncomfortable and stretched is part of growing and learning to trust myself. Uncomfortable and stretched doesn’t mean wrong. And this goes for my students as well.

I get to do this. I get to spend an afternoon every week sharing a life long passion with a younger generation. I get to play and discover alongside them.

I know without a doubt that the Lord invited me here. I am right where I’m supposed to be.

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This is all true, I typed to my friend on our rather long What’s App thread. Then I continued:

And it’s also a loop right back up to the top…I miss my margin and the corner of my kitchen table.

That’s true, too.

It’s all true at the same time.

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Some quick sketches from some photos I took last year.

These three panels I drew last year have come to my mind often since I disrupted my simpler creative life six months ago. At the time I was just making quick sketches from some photos I’d taken, without any further meaning connected to them. But lately its come to represent an option for how to approach the uncomfortable things.

When I look at the figure, I can feel the motion in my body. The pull to keep the momentum going, take a running leap and jump into the deep end, mistakes and all. Instead of remaining in the shallow water, waiting to acclimate to the cold, playing it safe.

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What about you? Do you resist the uncomfortable? Or revel in it? Or maybe it’s somewhere in between?

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Continue the Journey

In my last newsletter I talked about a question gifted to me by a friend that’s been guiding me this year. The question is: What do I want to bring? My friend Dacia took this question to heart and ended up painting her office building and wrote the question at the top. This week she sent me a photo of the drawing along with the following text.

Painting by my friend Dacia.

From Dacia: “I put it up in my cubicle this morning and one of the partners saw it so I got to tell her about the two different questions. She loved it and asked if I would share this with our whole team during our next monthly team meeting!”

I couldn’t love this more. Dacia is an accountant. It’s beautiful to see how one question spans from a theater classroom to the office of an accountant! Thank you, friend, for sharing this with me and for letting me share it here. And your painting is beautiful.

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Last week’s newsletter:

A Question as My Guide

If you liked this week’s newsletter, you might also enjoy:

A Pep Talk for Doing Something New*

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From the Sketchbook

A collage I made a few months ago.

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Blessings from the Guest Nest,

-Aimee

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Thanks so much for reading, sharing, and contributing to the conversation. You can support my art and writing by donating to my art supply fund and by sharing this newsletter with friends who might enjoy it.

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