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Beyond the Borders of Mamaland

 

Next month I turn thirty-six and I find it uncomfortable to be stretching beyond my world of mamahood.  If you’re thirty-six and you’ve been a professional of some type and now you’re about to jump into the deep end of parenthood, it’s probably a similar feeling.  It’s less to do with my current area of knowledge and experience and more the growing pains of learning something new.

In my case, I’m not an expert parent, but having been a parent for twelve years I’m pretty familiar with the aspects of my little world. Though I might still occasionaly look at another mama and think, “Hmm, she seems to do that part of parenting better than me,” the thought doesn’t rock my world me because over the years I’ve gotten used to having inadequacies and I know I will continue to have them forever.

Amongst my mama friends, I’m “the artsy friend”.  I have one other mama friend who enjoys writing and a few mama friends that spend time drawing and painting.  Through the years I’ve thought of myself as an artist of some sort-the writer part of me, the part of me that wants to create something with my hands and somehow reflect out, an inner part of my heart.  Maybe months passed between endeavors, but the essence of “artist” remained.

As I’ve spent time in the last year with writers and musicians who work at their craft as a full time job and lifestyle, the gap between myself and Artist/Writer seems to have grown exponentially.  Now, many of you are my friends, so you’re going to try to protest what I’m saying or it might sound as if I’m putting myself down in some way, but that’s not my goal. Most of you would agree that someone who works at a craft sporadically and “when the inspirations strikes” will not be nearly as developed as someone who has put in the hours (many hours) daily, for more years than I have been a parent. And so we’ve arrived at the gap.

As I’ve stepped off the edge into the gap it’s become very clear to me that improving as an artist requires self-discipline.  It seems an obvious statement, but my relationship to art has been “when I can fit it in”, so to face the wall of self-discipline in this area is new and hard. Self-discipline has never been a strong character trait of mine, it certainly wasn’t present in school and I haven’t had to sharpen it too much over the years.  That’s not entirely true, self-discipline is absolutely a requirement in Mamaland, but it looks different than the shade of discipline I’m trying to muster at the moment.  Right now it’s a floppy, ignored muscle and I’m asking myself if I have what it takes to develop it.

Can I write every day, not just when I feel like it? What about the long days, the days with unexpected circumstances? Oh wait, almost all days as a parent fit that description. I’m trying to find a way to bridge the gap between myself and the artists I’ve spent time with in the last year, not for the sake of self-promotion, but to be excellent at the passions that have simmered in my heart most of my life. But the truth is that no one is going to tell me to sit down and write five hundred words or create something with my hands.  It’s not anyone else’s job, it should come from me.

Most of my questions about myself and self-discipline remain unanswered.  The starting place I’ve found is humility. In this world beyond the borders of Mamaland I’m not “the artsy friend”, I’m the amateur.  Accepting that I’m in these early stages of development feels crucial to calling out for help and for putting the hours in to grow.  I need to strengthen my writing muscles the same way I did my parenting muscles, one day at a time.

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