This afternoon, I started to half-consciously ask myself, "When did I become so filtered?"
At what point in my life did I start worrying about what people thought of me? When did my writing change because of how it would be received? When did my art stop because I didn't think it was good enough compared to real artists?
When did my childhood dream of working in a shopping mall on Mondays and an artist on Tuesdays and Wednesdays become not okay?
I wish we weren't filtered. I wish we were real, authentic, genuine people. I wish we contributed our unique gifts to the world.
Earlier, I read a quote by Vartan Gregorian: "The universe is not going to see someone like you again in the entire history of creation."
We are so driven and simultaneously trapped be our senses of duty and responsibility, by the endless struggle for survival and striving for success. We think that more money, power, love, (whatever) will bring us more happiness--will provide us with more room to find the real 'us.'
But perhaps the very identity--the truest and deepest identity--we hope to find is the one that is found without money, power, human love, (whatever). When we can pursue our dreams in spite of potential losses, in the face of great odds, then I think we are living authentically.
In our world of options and possibilities, I think it's become increasingly difficult to find a niche. There are so many directions we could take, and sometimes I believe our own thinking paralyzes us from taking action. What's more, creative/alternative enterprises and careers are not celebrated or compensated, and so there is little motivation to pursue what is potentially a person's true heart's desire.
I think that highly sensitive people and INFJs are particularly susceptible to feeling lost. HSPs are overwhelmed as it is by sensory input, and so to present them with endless choices is to overload their psyches. And for the INFJ, there is this need to contribute to the greater good of mankind and make a mark on the world--and so often we fear that we will somehow make a wrong turn and miss our calling.
Barbara Sher, in I Could Do Anything, writes that truly knowing how to live means believing in what you're doing with all your heart--regardless of wealth and status. According to a Harvard study, real happiness is dependent upon a person's knowing what s/he wants and believing that s/he is moving in the direction of that goal. Sher claims that our skills are of little consequence, but it is what we love to do that should guide our careers and lives.
I believe that each of us has a particular calling and purpose. I know that, for me, the autoimmune journey is somehow deeply tied to my own. I think all of the trials we face make us more compassionate, empathetic, and authentic; they bring us closer to becoming the people God designed us to be.
Sher states that in times of war, there are fewer incidences of depression because everyone feels that the work they do has great meaning. All efforts, large and small, are necessary for the survival of a community. I think, then, that times of adversity maintain a particular ability to awaken our sense of purpose.
When we become ill, our options and choices are sometimes limited, which can focus how we spend our time. But, perhaps more importantly, when we become sick, we no longer have the time or energy to devote to causes that don't truly arouse our heart's interests. And our perspective goes through a sort of spring cleaning in which we catalog those dreams that are truly important, and everything else is released.
Autoimmunity forces us to reevaluate everything in our lives. And it tests us, in every way, and often shows us we can endure more than we ever thought possible.
With a new-found awareness of that strength, how then can we live believing we don't have something meaningful to contribute to the world? Creativity and beauty and authenticity?
Recently, a customer where I worked asked me about my philosophy on art and creativity. He wanted to know what I think about humans' artistic interests. I told him that I believe we were fashioned to imitate the Creator, to create beauty that reflects His glory and truth. I think we were fashioned to be like Him.
And what a beautiful thing, to know that out of the ashes of suffering, rises the beauty of art. He uses our experiences to allow us to create that which will bring glory to Him. Our suffering is not needless, but in fact reveals truth.
Knowing that my illness ultimately does good, how then would I be able to complain or live immobilized by my own self-pity? I rise up out of the ashes and create.
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