Letters From Meghan

Dear Friend,

The last time I wrote I asked you to start looking for your purpose with wonder and curiosity rather than dread and doubt. I asked you to start with yourself and what brings you joy, what is it that you want to be doing, and what makes you feel most fulfilled. I wanted you to join me on this journey, maybe selfishly, to not feel so alone. However, I realize that was a big ask. It’s difficult to know where to start even with those seemingly simple questions. At least it was for me. I realized I had no idea who I was or what I wanted and had strayed so very far from home. Not too long ago I couldn’t even tell you what my favorite color was.

A lot of the advice I had been given to find what makes me happy was to think back on what made me happy as a child. What was I doing with my free time? What kind of activities was I naturally drawn to? I heavily resisted the advice until recently; mostly because I had a traumatic childhood that I never wanted to go back to. When I reflected back on the past, I always flooded with unpleasant memories, the ones that made my heart clench and caused my body to be filled with fear and shame. It was the exact opposite of what I was trying to unlock so I continued to block it out.

I wonder if you can relate. If you too have forgotten what it was like to feel like a child because the past is filled with too many painful memories. For me, the best way to work through that was to go to therapy. Finding a professional to help can give you a safe place to wade through the wall of memories that keep you from finding those happier memories that are buried beneath the rubble. At least that was the case for me. Meditation, journaling, and a strong supportive friend group are all invaluable supplemental tools as well; but I had identified with my suffering for so long that I’d forgotten that it didn’t encompass my whole story. I needed a guide to help me walk through the whole story. It was hard and I’m still moving through the unpleasant emotions that come up, but in the process, I discovered many treasures I had left buried in the darkness.

When I cleared a path for myself to move forward I was flooded with memories of myself creating. In particular, I remember my first grade class. I remembered creating so many works of art under the direction of my teacher Mrs. Knudson. She introduced to us a variety of artists, painters of the like of Van Gogh, Matisse, Diego Rivera; and I remember the vibrant colors and the different brush strokes and being inspired to recreate their beauty. I was using crayons, pastels and colored pencils in place of oil paints; but the process of creating filled me with inspiration and joy. The clinch for me was sharing my joy of creation with other people. Not everyone appreciated it, but the pride I felt leading up to its reveal is something I hold onto. That child wasn’t afraid of rejection, she didn’t know what that was, but she knew the power of joy that she wanted to share with the world.

Even through my teenage years, that profound sense of wonder for art didn’t leave me. I had become enamored by Amy Brown. I had my parents buy me a book of her paintings at a farmer’s market and got lost in the magical world of fairies and forest spirits. I would draw until I produced the closest replication of the magic I found on the page. The difference between grade school and high school was that I was no longer as willing to share my creations with others. I desired to, but over the years self-consciousness had taken over as rejection became more prevalent in my life.

I used to look back at that time with feeling of “cringe,” remembering the angst I felt and being the girl who was into the occult and fantasy rather than makeup and fashion. Instead of embracing my passions for being my passions, I used it as a way to distance myself from my peers who I felt never understood me or believed would never accept me and my interests. There may be some truth in that, but the point is, I didn’t love myself and appreciate the things that gave me joy. I couldn’t; not when I had been in survival mode for so long. I kept them hidden and doused them in shame. I had begun to abandon myself the way the world had and no longer saw the value in my creations when I was consumed with suffering. I had forgotten the process, I couldn’t see the healing in the moment against the backdrop of my circumstances.

I’ve been meditating on how the simple joy of creating has been replaced by the necessity of production. As I got older, I was programmed with the belief that I must always be productive if I want to get the most out of life. If I wasn’t producing then I was wasting time, or worse, failing at life. It was the freedom of creating without expectations, of bringing to life the images I see in mind that fulfilled me, but no longer being a child, I was no longer afforded idle time to just be. It’s a subtle voice which tells me I’m not allowed time to play, to rest, to be without mining my resources for a product.

I don’t want my art to be a product. I want it to be an expression of freedom. I want it to embody the joy I feel for the life that I have right now. Productivity brings with it expectations, there’s a standard I have to meet, a demand I must fill. It’s what caused me anxiety to not create. Because if it’s not great then what’s the point? If society doesn’t see value in it then it’s worthless.

However, the point is my own enjoyment. The point is to return to the first grader with her white polo and navy blue jumper and black buckled shoes who tried to recreate the masterpieces of the greatest painters because she wanted to. To embody the joy of being within the doing. When I lose faith in the creative process I remember her. I remember the joy in the brush stroke and the blending of colors on paper.

I use the responsibilities of life as an excuse to avoid opening myself up to the vulnerability of joy. It feels like such a contradiction when all I really want is freedom. Freedom of time and space to be myself, and that is exactly what creating does for me. There is need for meeting responsibilities as an adult, but those responsibilities include my own fulfillment, not just bills. It’s a balance of meeting responsibilities and making time for joy that I am still working on achieving.

It’s not easy to wade through the painful memories to uncover the joyful, but for me, it was the most liberating experience of my life. For too long I’d denied myself true joy because I was too afraid of what I would find buried in the darkness. But it turns out there can be just as many treasured memories if we’re brave enough to look for them.

I hope when looking for your purpose that you dig in to get to know yourself. Turning to the past is invaluable in uncovering what it is that brings light into your life, and how you can then turn that light and shine it onto others. It takes time. It also takes dedication; not to a craft or a purpose, but a dedication to know thyself.

Sometimes we have to recover and retrieve the lost parts of ourselves that we left behind to truly find what it is that gives us purpose. And sometimes the uncovering can be very difficult and painful. Just know, my friend, that you are not alone in this journey of self-discovery, and that you deserve the time and effort it takes to keep digging.

Until next time,

MK