friends, time with family, above all, time to himself with no
agendas of preternatural accomplishment. His many former
passions have dwindled to mere interests; he is too busy to
enjoy pastimes. He tells himself he has no time to pass. The
clock is ticking and he is using it to get famous.
Recently, I bought myself a horse for the first time in a
decade. On hearing the good news, my accomplished friend
moved immediately into his Wet Blanket mode, cautioning,
“Well, I hope you don’t expect to get to ride it much or even
see it much. As you get older, you do less and less of the
things you enjoy. Life becomes more and more about doing
what you must....”
I’d rather have roses on my table than diamonds on
my neck.
EMMA GOLDMANBecause I have learned to hear Wet Blanket messages for
what they are, I was not too daunted by this prognosis. But I
was saddened by it. It reminded me of the vulnerability of
all artists, even very famous ones, to the shaming, “I should
be working” side of themselves that discourages creative
pleasures.
In order to thrive as artists—and, one could argue, as
people—we need to be available to the universal flow.
When we put a stopper on our capacity for joy by