Sunday, March 1, 2015
A rising tide lifts all boats
I have been struck by this unfortunate pattern: when I become very absorbed in an endeavor I become more critical of others in that endeavor.
I was once a painter. During those many years I found it hard to enjoy painting and other forms of visual art done especially by living people. I didn't tacitly think there was only so much painting love to go around, I just acted that way.
The other day I was in the library break room telling Marcus the teen librarian about yet another book. "It was great, but then she put this crappy paragraph in near the end. It ruined it for me." One paragraph! I have become a gigantically dissatisfied reader. One adjective can tip me over the edge, the awkward movement of a character, a glint in their eye, a plot flaw the size of a dime. God, writing is hard! How about a little pity?
Wait, no, writing isn't actually hard. It's like tumbling down a hill. You get weeds in your hair. It's a lark. Everything is a lark. Art is not a fierce and noble mission. We just want to make a little magic. There is plenty of love to go around. Rejoice writers, painters, musicians, dancers and poets and potters and drawers. We are all in this together.
So let us band together and fight our only enemy.