My time on earth is limited and so I believe I must try everything at least once.
I am the second of three siblings; my sister over-accomplishes academically while my younger brother memorizes and recites Greek mythology and world history. Every conversation with him begins with, “fun fact, did you know 15,000 years ago this happened in this civilization?” (I rarely pay enough attention to quote him accurately).
My mother claims that I inherited all the artistic genes on behalf of our family. I don’t quite believe her. While I have had my phases with every hobby imaginable, today my charcoals and watercolors gather dust, my sketch-book is dog-eared with more blank pages than portraits, the crochet hook untouched after my one tragic attempt, my poetry notebook hides beneath a stack of cute-covered journals, the air-dry clay from my pottery period still in its cover, and every hobby I have abandoned sits faithfully, waiting for me to return.
Earlier, the phrase “Jack of all trades, master of none,” stung; it meant that despite my endless creative pursuits, I had never mastered one. Mostly because I didn’t practice any of it enough in the first place. Not excelling at something immediately frustrated me. In anticipation of greatness, I often forgot the simple joy of discovering and trying something new.
They say your twenties are for learning new things, finding your favorites, and making peace with your flaws. But they’re also for sitting with yourself, rediscovering the parts you almost forgot, and realizing it’s really not that bad.
Art enables this.
It teaches you to be patient, to expose yourself to new experiences in the hope of being inspired, to wear your heart on your sleeve, to find meaning when feelings don’t make sense, to be wide-eyed and whimsical. It reminds you that every part of the curve contributes to the circle; every imperfect effort completes the whole.
It’s put much more eloquently in the very famous movie ‘Dead Poets Society’;
“Medicine, law, business, engineering;
These are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life.
But poetry, beauty, romance, love…
These are what we stay alive for.”
No matter what your academic journey or goal is, you must involve yourself in creative interests. You will inevitably learn numerous theories and concepts in lecture halls, but learning something of your own, with no restriction, imposition or expectation, fueled purely by passion and curiosity, is something else.
In order to find your calling, to stumble across it, you must try everything that interests you. In this process, you will sometimes find yourself hands-deep in clay, trying to shape the arrogant wet soil to magically transform into your inspiration picture from Pinterest; hair sticking to your forehead, sweat trickling down your back, making you question if this tiny trinket dish is even worth all the effort. Other times, you are sitting at your table, it’s just past 2:00AM and the only illumination is your desk-lamp; there are notes and past papers scattered around, and you so wisely thought this would be a good time to learn the art of calligraphy.
But that’s the thing, your hobbies will never demand from you, they will never shout or scream for your attention, but one unsuspecting day, when you are watching re-runs on TV or trying to solve sums in business statistics, they will silently whisper in your ear, calling you back gently.
When you are so rooted in the present, focusing on not what lies ahead or what has passed by, no presence or absence can affect your peace. Art will make you soft. It will serve as a reminder that the world is still kind, despite daily reminders that persuade otherwise. Caring for things bigger and smaller than yourself will save you.
And befittingly, I have discovered that there is more to the proverb I once dreaded:
“Jack of all trades, master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one.”
This article may have taken two hours, left me with a headache, and made me doubt my vocabulary, but it is proof of trying; an attempt at the unknown, and for that, I am glad.
Also on a side note, my sister now has her own bead box, making tiny colorful bracelets that I model on the daily, while my brother publishes Percy Jackson fanfiction online (sorry-not-sorry for exposing you). Because you can’t consume or appreciate art for long without it rubbing off on you. Eventually, it compels you to create.
Art will save you, but you must let it.
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