Sanctified Artistically and Creatively

At some point, I will conclude my account of the day my thyroid was removed. I've felt guilty for not spending any time writing as of late--actually, I've felt guilty for not wanting to want to write. To be honest, going back to work about a week ago was completely exhausting for me. Though my mood is mostly good and I can keep up with my co-workers and complete typical day-to-day tasks, there's not much of an energy surplus when I get home to devote to creative endeavors or even exercising. The gym is something I typically do on a daily basis, but right now my body wants rest, so I'm giving it rest. I think my brain also wants rest, so I'm giving it the same treatment as my other parts.

I've been mulling over some thoughts during the past few weeks, and especially the past 36ish hours. Being surrounded by artists and fine art supplies every day certainly forces me to confront the reality that I'm not devoting any time to my own art. My camera sits in its bag, unused. My paints sit in my ArtBin, unopened. My collage cutouts sit in my desk drawer, unglued. I know that I need to extend some grace to myself for not accomplishing any projects, given that the past couple of months have been so focused on my cancer. At the same time, I can't blame my cancer for the months before my diagnosis in which I still wasn't cultivating my seeds of creativity. I know that I've been battling ill-health for some time now, but I also know that I have a good many excuses, most of them stemming from my perfectionism, that keep me from acting on this yearning to create.

As a child, my desire was to become an artist. That was my career plan for probably the first eleven years of my life. I had student artwork displayed in my community's art gallery. I read all I could about Vincent Van Gogh (and even dressed up like him for a research report in fifth grade, bandage-wrapped ear and all). I came home from school and immediately turned on the television to tune into "It's Curtoon Time!" My mom bought me art and craft kits for birthdays and Christmases. I spent my weekends designing outfits with my Barbie fashion design kit.

I don't exactly remember when, but sometime after fifth grade I stopped wanting to be an artist. There was a brief period of time where I wanted to be a veterinarian (because of my new-found interest in reptiles, via my lizard, Sam). I wanted to be an actress (because of praise after performances in classroom skits and winning a play-writing contest at school). I wanted to be a special education teacher (because I was a "big buddy" to a kindergartener with special needs). As I got older, my desire was less and less to create, and more and more to help others, particularly marginalized people groups. I became more serious about my faith in sixth grade, and shortly after that I decided that I wanted to be a missionary. I think that this desire resulted in part from my drive to help others, but also from the belief that it was what would bring me into greatest intimacy with God. What I can now say in hindsight, after working in full-time Christian ministry for a year, is that I am neither called nor gifted to do overseas missions.

For the past few years, I've bounced around in terms of career ideas and pursuits. My sister told me that I change my mind a lot, but my coworker suggested that I just haven't found my place yet. Amidst my missions work and brief divinity school stints and plans to get a Ph.D. and jobs working in special education, deep down I have wanted to be an artist. I don't know exactly what that means, but I think that God has guided me to the place where I can discover the meaning behind that desire.

Several years ago, I sought prayer from a spiritual leader at my church. During one of our meetings together, without having any prior knowledge of my childhood desire to become an artist, the leader told me that I was created to be an artist. She told me that I had been sanctified (set apart) artistically and creatively, and while we were praying she said that God gave her visions of beautiful pieces of art pouring out of me. I don't remember the exact descriptions of her visions, but I do remember feeling equal parts surprised and skeptical. In the days following our meeting, I went to the gym and chose an elliptical machine, and then realized some type of artist magazine was left on it. This was somewhat strange because I had been going to that gym off and on for at least six years at that point, and had only ever seen celebrity gossip magazines. But what made it even more strange was that there was a post-it note inside the magazine with the words "your article," and it was flagging a piece of writing that discussed becoming an artist(!).

Last night, I had the opportunity to attend a lecture and demonstration at work that featured a local oil painter. Interestingly, several years ago when I was actively involved in college ministry, I somehow obtained a bookmark with a picture of the painting "The Last Supper with Twelve Tribes." I never paid much attention to the artist's name, but I remember always having a fondness for the work. Well, imagine my surprise when I started my job a few months ago and learned that the man who made that painting is a regular customer at our store. He is the one who spoke at the work event last night, and his words reminded me that I have a gift and talent that need to be nurtured. Because of my perfectionism, I'm prone to give up on creative endeavors because right now I'm not at the level I want to be at. However, hearing about the effort this man invested in practicing and learning and becoming a good artist made me see that I need to actually set aside time and space to practice art--without placing expectations on myself. With all the jobs I've tried and career paths I've pursued, I keep coming back to this small voice of desire deep down in my heart, telling me that I need to be an artist, and it's time that I listen.

As I said before, I don't know what kind of art I want to create or even what tools or mediums I will use. All I know is that somehow as this journey slowly unfolds, it seems more and more connected and logical. Despite a resting brain and potentially muddled writing, I am posting this as: 1.) accountability to pursue artistic endeavors; 2.) a reminder that last night God stirred something in my heart.

Side note: I would like to draw attention to my insightfulness as a first grader.  Jon Holland, a psychologist, came up with the "Holland Occupational Themes"--six primary career strengths that are assigned based on personality.  My top two Holland Codes are artistic and conventional, essentially creating and organizing.  On the Holland Codes hexagon, my two strengths are directly opposite one another, meaning that the combination of those two strengths is possible, but rare.  At the age of seven, I was self-aware enough to know about my desires to create and organize, thus my conclusion that I would work in retail part-time (a conventional job), and as an artist the rest of the time (an artistic job).

A Commitment to Newness

Last summer, I dragged my brother along with me on a field trip of sorts to our local Barnes and Noble.  My goal was to gather a variety of magazines to be used in creating a vision board.

For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of a vision board, it's basically a poster filled with a collage of pictures that cast a vision for an individual's life.  They are like a map of dreams, and supposedly have some sort of psychological effect on people so that those dreams are more likely to be fulfilled (I have no data on this, just a recollection of something I read in Oprah's magazine once).

My sister is a passionate proponent of vision boards, and is now fulfilling many of her own dreams by way of her recent move to Brazil.  So maybe the boards do have some underlying powers over the subconscious.

After choosing a variety of relevant magazines, ranging in central topics from photography to women's health to interior design, I dutifully searched for and cut out the photos and text that seemed to best represent what I hope for in the immediate future.

Pictures of chiseled abs, runners, women lifting barbells.  The words look good feel better, healthier, diet, gym, healthy weight, fight off cravings, exercise, strong, respect yourself.

Pictures of church steeples.  The words believe, change the world, truth, love, renewed views.

Pictures of camera gear, interior design drafts, paintings, drawings, hands holding pencils, marble busts.  The words photograph, crafting, create, design.

Pictures of women posing, pretty dresses.  The words confidence, myself.

Pictures of dogs.  The word dog (did you think I'd create a board without this?).

Pictures of yoga poses, women free in creation, women on scooters, women smiling and laughing.  The words content, peace, embrace, live, still, play, centered, free.

Pictures of brick walls, houses surrounded by fields, plant-adorned walkways, brightly-painted buildings, the coastline.  The word beauty.

Pictures of groups of people smiling, girls laughing together.  The words people, friends.

Pictures of libraries, writing desks, people sleeping in fields with their notebooks, home offices, hands cupping mugs next to open books.  The words ideas, influence, words, dream, think, your heart's desire.

Despite the fact that I spent so much time scouring each of my carefully-selected magazines for pictures and words, I have yet to actually create a vision board.  The cutouts sit in a stack hidden away in my desk, perhaps symbolic of the way in which my dreams stagnate.

For those who celebrate a religious Easter, the holiday commemorates newness--the new life given to people through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  He rose again so that we might be able to be spiritually reborn.

With the theme of newness in mind, I think back to the pictures for my dream map.  I have a renewed desire to take the time to actually assemble them together on a poster, much in the same way I have a renewed desire to act on and pursue my dreams.

Newness.  A commitment to healthy eating and exercise that pushes my body.

Newness.  A commitment to my faith and finding a church that fits.

Newness.  A commitment to my creativity and continuing to experiment in as many mediums as possible (without letting me talk myself out of anything).

Newness.  A commitment to accepting and loving who I am, flaws and all.

Newness.  A commitment to continuing to be a good dog-mom.

Newness.  A commitment to enjoying life fully.

Newness.  A commitment to creating and finding beauty in the world.

Newness.  A commitment to forming new and nurturing old relationships.

Newness.  A commitment to time for contemplation, reflection, writing, and pursuing my dreams.

So Easter is my New Year, a time that marks the newness that I hope to find in my life in the coming months.  Sometimes I'm so busy concentrating on my illnesses that I forget that it's not time for me to mourn my life (or what would have been a "normal" life).  While my conditions do place some limitations on the future, there is no reason they should be stopping me from living.  I need to renew my mindset so that I no longer think that way.

Newness.  A commitment to moving forward in spite of my diseases, allowing them to make my life richer instead of allowing them to stunt me.

Behold, He is making all things new.

Finding Purpose in the Ashes of Suffering

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.

My Hashimoto's Diagnosis

Looking back at my Hashimoto's diagnosis, it all seems very anti-climactic.  My then-naturopath casually (perhaps flippantly) told me I had an autoimmune disease of the thyroid.  He explained to me in basic terms what this meant: my body doesn't recognize its own thyroid gland; it produces antibodies against the thyroid to destroy it.  He prescribed some herbal supplements and introduced some new dietary guidelines (cook some goitrogens, avoid others).  It all seemed and felt rather manageable, and I figured that once a diagnosis label was given, healing would be instantaneous and I could go about my life without giving much thought to 'Hashimoto'...

Fast-forward four years.  Having an autoimmune disease sucks.  Instead of progressively getting better, at times I almost wonder if I'm getting worse.  My mood was bad before, but I was in great shape and in no pain.  Now my mood is usually steady, but I'm just on the verge of crossing over into 'overweight' territory, and I have weekly, if not daily, joint pain.  I had bad (no) menstrual cycles before, but my circadian rhythm was in check and I woke without an alarm clock.  Now I menstruate each month like clockwork, but I can't fall asleep at night and struggle to get out of bed in the morning.  I floundered in the face of stressful situations (moving, jobs changes, taking care of a new pet), but continued to dream about the future.  Now I still flounder in stressful situations, but it's becoming more difficult to dream about the future.

I've invested so much time, energy, money, and research into getting well, but when you have an autoimmune disease, sometimes the quest (fight?) for elusive wellness might as well be the same as a hamster's quest to reach the end of its running wheel.  At what point does the hamster give up running, and do we follow suit when healing comes slower than we anticipated?

Four years ago, I had no understanding of autoimmune diseases.  When I was diagnosed with one, I had no grasp of how that reality would change and shape my life.  I've spent the last several years dedicating myself to understanding my condition, making changes that will improve my quality of life, and trying to find a means of surviving and thriving without feeling like my life is somehow lesser.  This is difficult to do.

I am relatively young, and to see the other young people around me doing the things young people are 'supposed' to do can be disheartening.  It's usually easier to focus on the losses that come with an autoimmune disease instead of the benefits (and now I realize I'm not sure there really are many benefits, save for forcing a person to be committed to a healthy lifestyle).

Coupled with my autoimmune struggles are the struggles I face as a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP).  Those struggles so seem to overlap, and I'm convinced that somehow the creatively intelligent and highly sensitive are more susceptible to autoimmune diseases and health ailments.  I'm not sure if there's any valid scientific data to back up that belief, but the idea certainly seems to pop up fairly frequently in online literature...

And so I live feeling somewhat stunted and stuck, afraid to dream and venture out because of how my body may respond.  Will my thyroid retliate?  Will my soul be able to deal with an overload of new sensory information?  Will I feel okay tomorrow?  If I don't feel okay, will I be able to take care of Tobin?  Damn you, Hashimoto.

I hover above a line that divides military-like vigilance and dedication to sleep schedules, meal plans, and exercise regimens from a denial-based desire to sleep whenever I want and eat whatever I want and move whenever I want.  I do yearn for physical healing, but I also want to be in control of my own life.  Ever since my diagnosis, it feels as though Hashimoto, not I, controls my life.

I can only hope and pray that this proverbial thorn in my flesh is for some greater usefulness and purpose, if not for myself then for others.  I continuously recall Cardinal Newman's meditation, and press on with the belief that He has committed to me a specific work that cannot be accomplished by any other person.  I must rest in faith that my diagnosis is part of that specific work and calling.

"God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission--I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for nothing. I shall do good, I shall do His work. Therefore I will trust Him. Whatever, wherever I am. I cannot be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him; in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him; if I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends, He may throw me among strangers. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me--still He knows what He is about."

-Cardinal Newman