Today I went to a lecture given by one of my closest friends from high school. I hadn't seen him in about three years and felt it would be a good chance to see what he's been up to. This lecture, held in conjunction with an exhibition of his latest works, was about his experiences, as an artist, while living in Florence and Paris.
Although Frank had always been a talented artist in high school, I was amazed by how much his work has grown. He had the chance to study with classically-trained Italian painters, an opportunity rarely experienced.
Of course, this led me to think about my own life (you knew it would come to this). I have always firmly believed that you are as important as what you create. In my mind, in the past, this theory used to solely apply to the arts, with literature, visual art, and music being the most obvious expressions. Lately, this theory has blurred as I see parenting as the ultimate creation. Although I do not have a child and am not pregnant, my maternal instincts have been stirring as of late.
And then, I see people creating art.
And then, I get sick to my stomach because of what I do -- or rather because of what I don't do. I don't create. I work. I watch Survivor. I buy things for our house. I read Martha Stewart Living. I obsess over things I can't control. I do almost everything but create. Ben says that with this site, I'm creating something artistic. Sure, there's a little something to that -- this page partially fills the non-artistic gaps in my life but c'mon, it's a glorified diary.
I told Frank that if I don't break out of this adulthood rut, I'm going to have a "mid-life" crisis at 27. I have always called my sister-in-law Sarah a flake because she writes poetry and works in a cafe (what should I expect? She's still in college, for goodness sake!). I expect everyone to do as Ben and I did. We started career-track jobs one week after returning from our graduation present to ourselves -- a month in Europe. Since then, it's been marriage, financial planning, furniture refinishing ... it goes on and on.
This feeling will probably pass in a day or two -- probably after seeing a impossibly cute baby toddling down the street.
"Oh Ben, screw art and travel! I want a baby!" I'll say.
He'll say "not now" and I'll be upset until I realize that he knows me more than I know myself and I am in no way ready for a child.
