“A celebration of life.”
At first breath we are all presented a blank canvas.
Intimidating in size, daunting in mass it is much to take in! At this time we are not able to sketch let alone paint, the task seems impossible!
Nevertheless we are baptized by fire. Coached by our families, lectured by our teachers we slowly but surely come to understand what our canvas should be compromised of. Hues of empathy, fill our palettes.
We take our brushes; reluctantly. Stroke by stroke we attempt to outline the foundation for which our masterpiece shall be built upon. All of this is carefully monitored and regulated, never to be misconstrued, Every error to be repaired.
We fill the gaps between the lines.
From infancy through grade school we are supervised.
As we grow we are exposed to a grand collection of canvas’s just like ours that have been completed by millions of others! Some grungy and eloquent, some damaged & some pristine we now have a full understanding of the context of where our canvas shall fit in-between such other works of art. We celebrate the immaculate, we sneer at the damaged.
At 18 we are presented color and brush and we are left to put mind to paper.
Then, most often we fall astray, our colors robust, our strokes violent. Quickly we realize that creating a masterpiece isn’t as simple as following the sketches of others. Mistakes are frequent, lines are broken. This art that started as canvas soon becomes something far removed from what we envisioned after all.
We look at the celebrated work of others and we retreat discouraged. “I could never paint something so magnificent as my neighbor abroad.” We fear our mistakes are permanent, fatal as a plague. “I will never be able to recover from this.”
Days turn to nights, nights to weeks. We sulk. “I should of known better.” “Maybe if I would of done this, I could of avoided failure.” Fully settled in nadir we ponder. Hopeless & spitefully, bitter & reluctant we pick the brush back up.
Slowly we attempt to move forward. Not erasing our transgressions but burgeoning from them. All is not lost. Slowly but surely rhythm is found once more, the feeling in our fingertips restore, promise is re-instilled.
It is then that we truly discover the beauty of life.
Not in it’s perfection but in it’s adversity, Not in its permanence but in its uncertainty.
There is no set path, there is no failure. There is only opportunity.
If things aren’t going the way you originally envisioned, change them.
There is always more story to write, songs to sing & lessons to be learned.
We are all Works of Progress.