Both of my daughters are at turning points. One is weeks away from graduating from college. The other weeks away from declaring her major. Both are faced with the question: What next?
This question mark is huge. There is absolutely no known answer to this question. Because it’s this question that leads to a slew of other questions. Which, when you share intense passion for creativity and are inherently square-peggish, can be inordinately anxiety producing.
I’ve spent a lot of time on the phone with my older daughter recently. She’s been feeling the pressure of the what next question. It seems everyone she meets from relatives to shop keepers want to know what her next steps are. Some even ask, “What are you going to do?” or “Do you have a job yet?”
The truth of the matter is, I don’t want her to take a “job.” She is an artist. A gifted painter. Her work is beautiful, impactful. And she’s been told by people in the art world, not her mother, people who actually know things that she can make a living as an artist. And live independently. Which is my dream for her.
Her younger sister texted last night, wanting to talk. Which is a big deal. My younger daughter is a very closed-mouth social butterfly. She’d make an amazing undercover operative, we joke. She’s a vault. Except her emotions have a limit and her voice gives her away. She too, is at a turning point. She’s realized she can no longer avoid pursuing her passion, photography. She was upset about changing her academic focus; veering from dependable to unpredictable, disappointing us in the process.
I told her I got it. I did the same thing as a college sophomore. I realized that studying business was not for me. I wasn’t interested in balance sheets or debits and credits. Plus, I was a really bad business student, only good at the “fluff” courses that tapped into my creativity. Numbers numbed me and I over-thank everything. Suffice it to say, I still recall the teary conversation I had with my mother all those years ago when I told her I wanted to study literature instead. And with my father’s blessing, I declared myself an English major, minoring in dance, veering away from a predictable profession.
Until I’d spoken with my younger daughter last night, I’d all but forgotten about the stress of declaring a major in college. When I told her to declare her art major, I felt a heavy burden evaporate. Problems grow to enormous proportions in our imaginations when we keep them to ourselves. Turning points arise when we need them, not when we want them.
The irony of my children being in such synchronicity is not lost on me. They’ve both been feeling the pressure of meeting the expectations of people who don’t matter. Last night I was blunt with my younger daughter. I interrupted her mid-explanation as to why she no longer wanted to pursue the major she had previously (confusing to me) declared. She had to take a course in which she pursued a passion project related to the field. She was stumped for a topic. I told her matter-of-factly, “That’s because it’s not your passion.” She was taken aback a little. I pressed on. “What would make you happy?”
“Photography,” she said through tears.
“Then do it,” I said. “That was the plan, anyway.”
Which is the honest-to-goodness truth.
My oldest daughter picked up a crayon before a pencil. I can’t remember a time she hasn’t been drawing. And my younger daughter became a photographer the moment she picked up her first point and shoot. Both of my children are incredible artists. Who see the world in a different way than most. And the world needs the beauty and perspective artists provide.
I applaud their courage to choose the path of authenticity and creative expression. They’ve chosen challenging, creative fields, but I know they’ll both be fine. Will their chosen passions bring the creature comforts they’ve grown accustomed to? I don’t know. Only time will tell.
But I do know their work is just as meaningful as any other traditional type of work they could choose. I also know, if they choose to turn later on down the road, elect a more traditional path, that will be o.k., too. Their creativity will never die; it’s an integral part of each of them. At this turning point in the road, I want my girls to know what it took me so many years of suppressing my own creative impulses to learn; your work is a reflection of who you are, not the definition.
© Kathie Z.