Whisper

The other day Kim Klassen shared some words about resistance in her Beyond Layers class. This resistance is something we all experience, I think, but maybe in different ways.

For me, a lot of it comes from my own insecurities and hang ups and also from guilt.

There is not really an issue at the moment in not wanting to do the work . . . at least not this work--this work of creativity, photography, writing in my blog, editing in Photoshop: this is "work" I want to do --actually it is not even work to me (thus the quotation marks). It is not something I have to do; it is something I want to do, so I feel guilty, sometimes, that it is some sort of indulgence.I have a real job that I get paid to do and I need to fulfill those obligations. Also there are my kids and they have things they need to do as well and need some guidance along the way to meet their obligations and there is the housework: cooking, cleaning and, of course, the laundry (not sure why people--mostly women--always end up referring to the laundry. Perhaps there is some sort of symbolism there--all I know is it should not be as big a deal as it is, but I am nearly never on top of it. My guest bedroom always shows some 'state of laundry' and it frustrates me even though it should not matter.) So in my head, I know that my priorities are to meet my responsibilities at work and at home; in my heart, I want to be doing something else. Often, I can find a happy middle, but not always. It is when I do not approach my tasks systematically with a plan that I fall apart and I resist. Last night I started to go through the 30 plus applicants we have so far for our summer nanny position  (oh, how I hate summers!). My husband, trying to be helpful, was standing behind me and looking over my shoulder at all the cover letters and resumes that we got on Care.com, but I started to get really nervous, could not go on with the task, and ended up telling him, "I cannot do this this way, right now. I need to figure out, first, how I'm going to approach this."

This is not to say that I do not sometimes get lazy about photography and creativity as well . . . precisely because I do not have to do it, often makes me brush off certain aspects of doing the work. It is both a blessing and a curse that photography is nothing more than a hobby. There is nothing on the line; no job that I am going to lose because I did not do it correctly; no-one disappointed but myself. And if I give it up all together, no-one is left in the cold; it is just me in this alone. But, at the same time, I don't have that purpose. I don't have that feeling of being here for a reason. I don't have that feeling of having something that I have to do--and do well because that is just what I do--by a certain time (deadlines are pretty big motivators for me.). What am I doing this for? So I resist in that way, too.

And, then, there is that little voice in my head: 'who the hell do you think you are?'  I hear it anytime I think about trying to take this hobby to the next level -- even as a side thing.

Recently, at the urging of a Flickr friend/contact who is doing really well there, I signed up for the Society6 website. (I have to say that this website is pretty cool so far--not disappointed at all because it is fun). Part of me wants to let people on my Facebook page know that I have some of my 'work' on that website--some prints for sale, but I resist because I feel like marketing to friends is not appropriate somehow and, in reality, I guess I am just plain scared. 'Who the hell do you think you are?'

Society 6 recently chose one of my photos to be in their store .. . now this is not a big deal . . . I know that . . . they have many, many photos in their store, but still, it's flattering and I liked getting that congratulatory email stating that they chose my photo. In the email, they also urged sharing the 'news' with all my friends (well, of course they did--it's good business for them as well), but still, can I? I don't know. Resistance . . .

Kim left us with a prompt . . . just a word . . . whisper . . . the photo in this post is my result.