Old Habits Die Hard
Why we often mistake our patterned thinking for wisdom.
About 9 years ago was the last time I showed my photography. On a relatively public scale anyhow. It was at The Artist Project, a Toronto annual art fair that usually has a good assortment of interesting work and people.
Historically, it had been a good show for me. I would show up, fill my booth with my work, and sell most of it by the end of the weekend. It wasn’t necessarily a money maker. Art fairs are really expensive, particularly if you are giving up your time at your other job.
But it was satisfying. I got to meet lots of people, talk about my work, and see how it impacted the people who would look at it and engage with it.
That really is, I think, the real satisfaction of making art. You put something out there that you — and perhaps only you — find interesting.
And then, sometimes, someone else finds it interesting and they ask you about it.
And in talking about the art, you really are talking about yourself.
But in so doing, you connect with the other person. You find some commonality that, without the art as provocateur, would likely never have been found.
At that 2017 show, the difference was I didn’t sell one piece. Not one. It was devastating. And I decided then and there: I am not going to show my work again.
It was a ridiculous decision. One that I am probably still getting over. I, effectively, cut off a part of my creative life in that moment that was entirely to my own detriment.
What was so devastating was not just the fact that I had spent so much money printing and framing the work and had no one buy it. Although that did really suck. What was worse was that it felt like a rejection of me. That my work was no longer good enough — for the buyers, for people’s interest. It felt personal. Especially because, historically, that style of work would sell well.
So what happened?
I doubled down on two sure things: a) practicing law paid better and b) my work was never rejected as a lawyer.
Now that I’ve had almost 10 years to think about it, I think what happened was that I was putting work out there that I thought I “should” be putting out — what I thought others wanted. And in so doing, the work had less and less of me in it. It felt less honest. Less truthful.
The work I was making for the market was for the buyer. And they knew it. And so they didn’t want it.
It’s weird how that kind of thing comes out in all sorts of ventures and careers. When you are doing something because you are “supposed to,” people can tell. They don’t engage with it. Because what they’re sensing (and I think people always sense this) is that someone is just not being truthful about who they are.
Maybe this was a habit I had. Mistaking self-protection for self-knowledge. Maybe I still have it.
Earlier this week, a proposal I had out for a law firm workshop was rejected. Thirty minutes before we were scheduled to speak, the learning leader sent me a note. No longer interested. No real explanation.
It felt like a gut punch. I could use the income. But more importantly, it felt like: this isn’t working. Maybe it’s time to pivot. Maybe it’s time to double down on something more certain.
The challenge here though isn’t really whether I’m good at what I do. I know I’m good at it. It’s more: Is this as truthful to myself as it can be?
And sitting with that question, something became clear.
Maybe what I am most interested in doing actually has nothing to do with law firms, or lawyers, or any specific group at all.
Maybe, instead, it is people who have done all the things they thought they were supposed to. Who were good at it. Who did well. Who are successful. And who are now asking - now what? I want more. More success, more meaning, more purpose, more life.
Returning to the photography - one thing I’ve noticed lately is that I am way more into sharing my work than I have been in years. Perhaps it’s the sense of unraveling that apparently takes so long once you leave a profession that was not truly who you were, and you start bravely going down the path of figuring out what truly is.
To quote the work of Mark Epstein: maybe it’s allowing yourself to fall to pieces without falling apart.
And that is a scary, yet I think, incredibly brave and honest, choice.
If you’re reading this and you’re wondering, “I wonder what it would be like to be less afraid of failing, and more able to pursue success on my own terms,” then have that conversation with someone you trust and see what happens.
Unsure what to do next? Looking for more certainty? Welcome to the club.
But, if you need some help…
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