The essayist in me wanted this to be an epic WORDS finale, the last and best one of the year. I’ve been grasping for a salient point all week — some profound and sweeping summation of 2020, supported by three examples and brought to a tidy yet evocative conclusion.

When at noon today I mentioned to Mark that I was still casting around for my point, something one of us jokingly said reminded me of a lesson I learned this year. It was about that irritating phrase, “Just let it go.” I heard it reframed, not to mean Get rid of it or Be done with it, but rather, Hold it lightly.

That shifted things.

Watch as I attempt to hold this lightly.

Instantly, writing this piece became an opportunity to practice letting go. Of what, you might ask?

My desire to intrigue, impress, and move you with my sentences.
My need to convince you of whatever my point is, through a clear progression of paragraphs.
My hope that you’ll find what I wrote to be worthy of your time and attention — and more: that you might be compelled to leave a comment or send me an email!

I still want all of those things to happen, but the truth is, I can’t control any of them. Grasping doesn’t help, either.

We like to be in control.

Holding things lightly is the opposite of grasping, and I need constant reminders to loosen my grip.

Holding things lightly requires that we stay in our own lane. This is a relief when you figure it out. I spent 15 years hoping and waiting for my spouse to change. (He even said he wanted to!) In Year 16, I realized that I could change instead, so I did. I stood up for myself and made healthier choices, which included divorce. It took a long time to pry my fingers from “til death do us part.” I was not raised to hold marriage vows lightly.

I’m not against commitment. It’s just useful to notice what it is that we’re holding so tightly and ask ourselves why. Does it serve our higher purpose? Did it once, but not anymore? Will it eventually, if we keep hanging on? Or is it a cultural standard that’s become tangled up with our identity?

As a yoga teacher might put it: Where could we soften?

I didn’t intend for this to be about relationships, but here we are.

A wise older friend told me once that she and her husband of many decades would sit down each year on their anniversary and decide whether to continue on together. Some years required more discussion and negotiation than others. Nothing was automatically assumed. Their marriage was an active process of renewal, a living, breathing entity.

Mark and I haven’t gone that far, but this year I’ve noticed myself holding our relationship more lightly. By acknowledging that I have the choice to stay or go at any time — and so does he — I’m less likely to take it for granted. What had at times felt weighty and serious feels light-hearted and buoyant. I think I’ve given the whole thing a bit more room to breathe.

I’ve also released him from certain expectations. Ok, I’ll just say it: He does not need to love me unconditionally. That’s my job — to learn to love myself fully, as I am. Whether the sentences I write dazzle or fizzle. Whether my art sells or gathers dust. Whether I do enough and am enough, however I define that on any given day. My lane, my job.

There’s a fine line between self-study and narcissism, but there is a difference. Once we admit that we can’t control other people’s behavior, our only healthy option is to focus on ourself. What can I do to improve this situation? What can I work on to make life better for my community? How can I take care of my needs?

Remember Those Days?

Way back in January when we were all so young and innocent, I began these monthly WORDS posts by offering two wishes for you for the new year. (You can read that post here.) In case you got distracted by other events this year 😉, they were as follows:

Wish #1: May you refresh your labels. I described growing up as the less musical one in a musical family, then related the life-altering experience I’d just had of summoning the courage to sing in front of 10 people. I can still feel the butterflies in my stomach when I reread the story. I started seeing myself as Also A Singer.

Wish #2: May you give and receive jaleos. Those are the shouts of encouragement and appreciation (en español) that accompany any flamenco performance or rehearsal. So affirming!

Then I wrote these related mantras for 2020 and left them up on my studio chalkboard all year:

1. Let me see what I can do.

2. Let me cheer on others as they see what they can do.

The Wishes and Mantras Held Up

While not exactly what I had in mind, I’m guessing that life forced you to see yourself in new ways this year. We all did, and it wasn’t always pretty. It’s safe to say that you can claim the label “resilient” or maybe “more flexible than before.” Probably also “creative problem solver.” And through it all, I was giving you jaleos via this blog (and in my book!). I hope you heard and felt them.

I didn’t plan this either, but those mantras I wrote embody the spirit of holding things lightly. They are not S.M.A.R.T. goals. There’s nothing measurable about them which, as it turns out, is where their power and beauty lies. They are open-ended and full of possibility. They allow for the unexpected — you know, like the year 2020. Because no matter what happens, I can still do something.

Be a Contribution

I’m reading a book right now called, The Art of Possibility, by Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander. I was already in a mode of imagining better solutions, and the authors’ ideas apply perfectly to this year when our best-laid plans were mocked by the pandemic. Then our “beautiful suburban dream” was disrupted by the reality of social injustice. Then our lush west coast landscape was consumed by wildfires, again, and the southeast was ravaged by hurricanes, again. Then more than 150 million people cast votes but many believe half of them (Biden’s half) shouldn’t have counted. And still the pandemic rages on around us, oblivious to our human concerns.

Imagining possibilities is no longer optional or frivolous work. It is urgent.

One of my favorite concepts from the book so far involves replacing our success-failure mechanism — the construct of a culture that loves measurement and competition more than anything — with this notion: Be a contribution.

Being a contribution can look different for everyone, which is what makes it so useful. You can’t really do it wrong (unless you do nothing), and you also can’t win or be the best, because superlatives are irrelevant in the world of being a contribution. (Sure, you could donate the most money or volunteer for the longest shift, but if that’s your goal, you’ve missed the point.) In fact, be a contribution is a close cousin of “Let me see what I can do.” That’s probably why it resonates with me.

And since I’m working on staying in my lane and making this about me instead of you 🤪, I can look back on the year and ask only one question: Was I a contribution?

Before I answer that, note that I have access to analytics telling me not only how many email subscribers I have, but how many people open my emails each time I send one, and whether anyone clicked on the links. I know exactly who purchased what from my shop, and how much I earned from other projects. YouTube lets me know how many people are watching my videos, and for how many minutes on average and in total. In other words, if I want to let numbers determine whether I’ve been “successful”, that data is available to me. And seriously, when I spend too much time looking at it, those measurements can make me feel like a failure.

So... was I?

No numbers related to All Hands Art scream “success” by American business standards. But you know what? I did contribute. In fact, 2020 has been a banner year, contribution-wise. Here’s why:

I kept the promise I made to myself that I would show up here three times a month. One of those monthly rounds turned into a podcast, and that led to some fantastic conversations with some of my favorite people. I contributed to their stress levels at first, then to their enthusiasm once we got going. They contributed to my personal growth and that of everyone who listened.

It was important to me that I finish a book this year and be able to hold it in my hands. That book (Doodle Your Way Out of Stuckness) is my heartfelt contribution to this moment in history when so many things feel beyond our control. Writing it by hand, with swirly flourishes and small jokes in speech bubbles and instructions for silly challenges, kept me from taking myself and my task too seriously. Inviting helpers into the writing process (not to mention the reading process, because the book is interactive) held me to account and gave other people a chance to contribute. Their contributions made my work stronger.

I got inventive with my shop’s offerings, like the Fun Kits which contributed to people’s ability to make art at home. We all contributed to keeping the U.S. Postal Service afloat with shop purchases, and twice with the purchase (and later, the sending) of greeting cards. We also contributed proceeds from some of the sales to the Black Voters Matter Fund.

Readers contributed PICTURES of their peaceful spots in September, and of their doodles in November, which was very cool of them and also a fun way for me to give some jaleos.

Considering all that — and I’m sure I left out a few things — I’ll answer the question of contribution with a resounding YES.

But did I hold this piece lightly?

Ok, so I still spent a fair number of hours writing this essay. I always want to have a point and develop it and make sense, because I respect your time and attention. But as with most things, I’m learning that Creativity (including in the form of blog posts) suffers in a stranglehold. Like knotted yarn or tangled hair, forcing Her only leads to more frustration. I can report that this final WORDS dispatch of 2020 caused me much less consternation than the first one. In fact, my heart rate barely increases now when I write them, even as the evening hours tick by toward the deadline. 😬

And while I’m not dependent on your comments or your “likes” or your clicks for my worthiness (stay in your lane, Pam!), I do hope that my visits to your inbox have contributed some levity, insights, or eye candy to this crazy year. Maybe a sprinkling of all three. Rest assured that having you there on the other end of our cyberspace connection has been a great gift to me.

Thank you for your contribution to this wild ride called 2020.

Pam

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P.S. I’m not done for the year! There’s still a PICTURES post coming up on the 13th and SOUND on the 23rd (podcast episode #11).

P.P.S. I recommend spending some time thinking and writing about your contributions, and the end of the year is a perfect excuse. It’s an important practice that’s easy to skip if you’re like me and zip from finishing one thing to thinking about the next thing. Reflecting on what you’ve accomplished, large and small, builds a foundation for future accomplishments. Our negativity bias is strong, so it requires intentional effort to counteract our natural tendency to focus on everything we didn’t do or feel like we should have done. Forget those for a while! Note the positives and give yourself credit for being a contribution, in all the ways that you are. ❤️