Megan Caldwell Chandler

It has officially been one year since I left my former occupation and began a journey pursuing my creative endeavors.  And so, the time has come for me to reflect upon and wax poetic about my past year.  Turns out, I’m having a hard time reflecting.  I’ve tried to start writing this post every day since August began, and I just couldn’t seem to do it.  It occurs to me that I should write something positive and uplifting—something that says, “Hey, this has been the best year of my life!  I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do!  Hip, hip, hooray!”  Or maybe, “My year of work, effort, and creative discovery have shown me a glimpse of what’s to come in the future, and, boy oh boy, does it look peachy!” 

But, the truth is, what I want to write sounds more like, “Who knew following my dream could lead to such anxiety and panic?  Ha!  And I thought it couldn’t get any worse!”  Or maybe, “I’ve made a terrible mistake!  Every decision I make is a terrible mistake!”  And perhaps, “This past year has shown me that I should probably just stay in my house at all times, and grow out my hair and fingernails a la Howard Hughes.” 

Maybe my best option is to share with you equal doses of the good and the bad.  I thought once I worked through the tumult of deciding to become a full-time artist, I would feel unburdened.  The truth is, often times I feel more burdened.  There was a high level of anxiety that came along with my decision to pursue this new path, and I’m a bit surprised and dismayed that the anxiety has not lessened over time. 

I had this idea that once I got into the work, my anxiety and fear would diminish.  With my previous work in education, there were always guidelines: lesson plans, schedules, standards, and objectives.  Now there are no guidelines—nothing to tell me when, how, and why.  Sometimes this leaves me feeling like I’m floating around in a dark room trying to grasp at something I can’t name. 

And yet, despite the escalating anxiety, I was able to produce continuously throughout this past year.  Yesterday I went through my portfolio and pulled out all the pieces I’ve finished during this time frame, and counted over a hundred works.  I had no idea I had been so fecund, and I can honestly say I’m proud of myself for my productivity.  (Side note:  My husband Nick is the proofreader for this blog.  He does not like the word “fecund.”  His note to me was “use a different word, preferably one that doesn’t sound like poop.”)

When I started this path, I had hoped my future would become clearer as time went on.  I can’t say why, but I thought my new work would yield a map of the future, but admittedly, I feel more lost than ever.  I certainly have goals, but I couldn’t even tell you my plans for next week, because I just don’t know them.  This new path is a constant stream of decision making, and that can be paralyzing. 

I don’t want to end this piece on a gloomy note, so I’ve saved some good stuff for the end.  Despite my anxiety and uncertainty about the future, I am pretty certain this is the best path for me.  I can still feel this kernel of anticipation of art that is yet to be created.  I am optimistic that what I’m doing is important.  I can’t yet name why it’s important, but I have this positive feeling about my work.  As my intuitive feelings are almost always of a pessimistic bent, I’ll take this optimistic one as a good sign.