Are you a writer? I'm not, apparently.
I recently failed an “Are you a writer?” online quiz.
Yeah. I know. Lame to take it, lame to
care... But it caused havoc with my writing this morning.
I want to
rephrase what I hear some Buddhists say: you can only call yourself a
Buddhist if you meditate (if you Bhud? Bouder
means pout in
French...) and you are a writer if you write, a painter if you paint,
etc.
But
those statements aren't always true. Sometimes awareness of yourself
not meditating is what's happening, a story is hibernating for the
winter, or a new way of seeing a landscape is hatching.
Anyway,
how are we not setting ourselves up as jerks if we start declaring
that what is or isn't
happening in the moment defines a person's entire identity?
Which
leads me to think that identity is the problem. I clearly care way
too much about what I call myself, and what others call me. Every
time I show a painting, it feels like I'm exposing the most fragile
part of my soul, and that's as hard as it sounds. I think I'm seeking
shelter in another title, another creative world, so I can protect
that too tender part of myself.
It
isn't only cowardice, this focus on writing. First and foremost, I
love it. Even though it's mind dessicatingly hard, and plots don't
seem to want to visit my brain without serious cajoling, and I'm
totally disorganized in my rewrite process. Secondarily, I've been
told to be a writer by people who have read my work, which may just
have been a kindness, but still... Workshop leaders, brutal grad school teachers, and published writers have said these kind words to
me, so I tend to believe them.
Mostly.
But
putting that label on myself seems like such hutzpah. I've been told
that calling myself “an artist” is pompous – words really
have power when applied to an identity, as that response reveals.
Wouldn't that person have said the same about calling myself “a
writer”?
Now
I'm going to attempt to be zen about the whole question.
I
write, but I still think words are poor arbiters of reality. Look
around your room, the train, wherever you are. Feel the surface under
your feet, or your bum, your back. Feel the gravity, see the light,
feel the weight of yourself, hear your breath... Does any of that
care whether or not some definition comes in to pretend to slice this
from that, writer
from non-writer, art
from not art?
Maybe
you are more of a philosopher than I am, and trying to answer the
questions of art and
not art really excite
you, in which case – great! But me, I think those attempts at
answers are often used unintentionally to cause harm, both by outside
people applying it to others, and by uncertain selves hoping for some
safe haven, some solid ground.
The
greatest kindness might be to take away those words, and all our
tools we use to dissect, and stop bludgeoning ourselves and each
other – instead, just observe, and when we have questions, don't
pretend to have answers.
As my
meditation teacher says, “Ask 'what'.” The answer isn't always
important.
If you
have thoughts about what labels mean for you, I'd love to hear it! Musician, writer, artist, stay at home dad...
You can post down below in the comments, and it'll show up after I
get to see it. Sorry about the delay: I have to weed out spammers :(