|| via ||
I was looking over shop statistics the other day and felt a burn in my chest. I had just finished scrolling through Instagram for inspiration, was in the middle of getting into the mind-set to create, and then as I set about the digital space of my shop felt a small burn that quickly became a big ache. I was jealous and sad and disheartened and ready to give up.
It felt a lot like wanting to have a baby. That fever that comes over your whole being when you smell the sweet, freshness of a new babe's skin sort of sensation. I looked at the globes and prints taped up around my studio and ached for more. I ached for the end-game. I ached to be there and not here where I've still got so far to travel. I ached to call myself accomplished, instead of trying.
We're an instant gratification generation. I've heard it said a million times. We want to try a little bit, exert ourselves over a sprint and be there, but work isn't like that. I've seen that in my peers -a few months of trying and then annoyance over a lack of recognition. It makes me want to grab their shoulders with my nubby little hands and tell them: life isn't immediate in its disaster or its reward.
So, we sit in our current and stare at our future with the ache. We're annoyed by the ache, but the ache is important. It's a scabby, sticky glob of passion that's weighing on us, that's tiring and terrifying and yet, it's vital. It's the future contained inside of us.
The ache is important. It's the womb waiting for a babe, it's the dreams written down and taped up on the wall, it's the notebooks of handwriting waiting for a publish date, it's the paint wet and sloppy on the white face of a canvas. The ache is the moment we must note as it says we are here and ready, alive and willing, full up and prepared to pour out.
Acknowledge the ache, let it hurt, then respond by the only means necessary: put in the hard work from now until the ache is gone.