I spent last night scrolling the Work in Culture job board, feeling simultaneously over- and under-whelmed by the nebulous, hard to define nature of my career. I was scrolling the way I sometimes shop online, putting items into my cart but in the end closing the browser without buying anything. I was comfort scrolling for a new job that would simplify my life, though I know that no job board on the planet contains what I’m searching for.
I am the captain of my own ship, career-wise, which is most people’s dream. It is mostly my dream, too, but lately I’ve been wishing someone else would take the lead and tell me where to steer the ship. I am aching for a structure to plug myself into and for someone to know and notice when I’ve completed my to-do list. My life doesn’t work that way, and I know deep down I don’t actually want to be answering to someone else’s commands.
What I want is a clear purpose and the feeling of accomplishment.
As if on cue, a poem arrived in my inbox this morning, sent by my most recent mother-artist collaborator, Meghan Sheffield. Here is an excerpt:
In a time hellbent on hurt and destruction,
into every room, she brings love.
In a chapter defined by the most selfish of us,
she lives into how good humans can be
and invites anyone to join her.
Gives them a pen. A brush. A drum.
Gives them a nudge. A tarot card. An hour.
Feeds them poems. Feeds them dreams.
This, too, is our work in the world, though
I doubt she would call it work:
To meet what aches. To do it together.
To open to hopelessness with wonder.
Like an artist. Like a mother.
excerpted from Ode to the Woman of Odd Jobs
by Rosemary Wahtola Trommer
How did she know I needed this? Or is this just another moment when art reminds me that I am unique and also exactly the same as everyone else?
Like an artist. Like a mother. My work in the world doesn’t often tie up with a tidy ribbon, done and dusted. My work is very hard for me to define, like the work of the woman in the poem. I see glimpses of myself in this poem, and in all the conversations I’ve been having with other mother-artists for the upcoming Make Like a Mother podcast.
I couldn’t explain, at the outset, why a podcast about artists who are mothers felt so important to me. I probably still don’t understand all the reasons, but this poem helps me recognize a few of them. Also, the way the women in my life have started talking to me about things we’ve never shared, making me feel so connected and understood, and the way, despite all that, I still spend my days scrounging for something I could do to feel legitimate and recognized and successful - these are some of the reasons, and I know I will keep finding more.
Upcoming Shows
Saturday May 9th
3pm
Old Camborne Schoolhouse
Tickets $25
I would love for you to join me for a live taping of the final episode of the Make Like a Mother podcast with myself and my guests, Janita Wiersma and Trish Dryden. These conversations are changing me; they might do the same for you.
Tickets to this event would also make a lovely Mother’s Day gift. If you hadn’t started thinking about Mother’s Day yet - you’re welcome.
xo
Shannon