Limitations
I have been exploring the value of limitations lately.
It seems at first glance to be not at all what we want: constraints decrease our ability to achieve what we want in any number of undertakings, right? The thinking is that we want every available option at hand in order to make the best of our efforts.
But is that always true?
For example, when I started writing poetry, it was in a 4” x 6” field notebook my sister gave me, one poem a day per page, When my urge (need?) to write poetry expanded, I considered using a larger notebook, but elected (mostly out of laziness) to stay with the field notebooks. This turned out good for me because on the bad days, that small page was not terribly intimidating and I could usually scratch out a few lines. On these better days, the challenge is to complete my thought within the confines of one page. A handful of times, a poem has expanded to the next page, but none have gotten longer. I think if I had settled on an 8 1/2” x 11” page or even half of that, the words would have frozen in the vast snow-white landscape and died.
The limitation of the page size kept the daily challenge at a doable level.
In our collaboration, Michelle and I have decided to narrow our source material to just what we’ve both done this last year, which is of course all of my poetry, but one year of 10 for Michelle. Her career’s work would be tens of thousands of photos. Would the subject matter over ten years be broader? Definitely, and potentially more interesting than the selected scope. But we have no hope of combing through that many photos, ever, nor do we want to even try.
Because we decided to use just the calendar year’s production, the size of the pool is manageable.
The last time we got together, Michelle and I talked about other constraints that we are finding take the pressure off and allow us to go more fully into what we want to do.
It’s tempting to think about the end reader, the end viewer--what does she think of the poetry, does he like the composition of the photography, are we telling a complete story, Will they like it? It’s tempting to try to write and shoot to please them. But this kind of pressure dilutes the message the heart wants to share, makes it about pandering to the unknown masses instead of putting true heart and soul into it. There are excellent reasons to make the experience all about those on the receiving end, but this time, we both know, is not that time.
If it resonates with someone, we’ve been able to give them a gift. It if feels like it falls flat, well, it’s a good thing we’re not planning to retire on this one. Maybe we go for mass appeal next time. Pleasing a lot of people with such subjective material is not an easy thing, and the work would be a lot harder on many levels. We choose to not take on that heavy lifting just now. So part of the task is to not think about the reader and viewer, which also is not as easy as it sounds, but still easier than focusing on mass commercial appeal.
But because we’ve chosen one end goal over another, there’s a certain stripe of mental and emotional work we won’t have to do, which allows more bandwidth for heart engagement.
I’ve begun limiting my distractions, using my time more deliberately. The TV’s stayed off. I haven’t brought home piles of books lately. (It’s true, I haven’t--I’ve only four very fat poetry collections stacked up just now. No. Sorry, five.) The company is a major distraction, but, as you know, rent and peanut butter is kind of critical, so I can’t jettison that one. By the same token, I’m carefully maintaining my few small ways to stay engaged with the real world out there and my brothers and sisters in Christ. These activities keep me anchored in what’s most important, which is not, as much as I’d like to let it be, my inner world.
Life is full of tradeoffs: closing one door opens another. What about you? What conscious tradeoffs have you made in order to get what you really want?
Toward the promise,
Lana
#353
O God
Whom we desperately need
It is our experience that
such miracles are not
often granted
But what can we do?
Spare this beloved one
Restore this son from the
grasp of the pit
O God
our hearts
O God
pour out
O God
#354
O God
Whom we still desperately need
It is our experience that
Your reasons are
rarely given
And what can we do?
We have heard Your
no
We carry heavy pieces
in shaking hands
We stagger back from the
edge of the pit
O God
our hearts
O God
keep us from flying apart
O God
A friend’s son took his own life this last week. Such inexpressible pain.
Here’s the link to last week’s issue News from the field
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