When we know our story, others can reinforce it

In this bleak November, when we see so much yet often understand so little, let us do this one thing: Be the best we can be. Be who we are. Be ourselves.

This presumes two things, of course: One, that who we are is good not evil and, two, that we know who we are.

I’ll leave discussion of the good versus evil option to others more philosophical than I, but the ‘knowing who we are’ is right up my alley.

Knowing who we are is not the easiest of undertakings, but it is essential, in my view, to living the life we want to live. Otherwise, we represent Oscar Wilde’s famous quote: “One’s real life is so often the life that one does not lead.”

But how do we know what our “real” life is? How and when do we discover this? It is not the easiest of undertakings, necessarily, for it can take a lifetime to know ourselves. But the more we ask the question, the better chance we have of discovering the answer.

I continue to work on my identity of/as writer in my Third Act by cultivating my craft, practicing it, and (often self-) publishing it. I am deliberate about being a writer, because that is the best way for others to see me as a writer. While it’s true that “we cannot be what we don’t see” (meaning that representation matters, that, for example, little girls can’t imagine being astronauts if they never see an astronaut who is a woman), it is equally true that others cannot see us for who and what we are if we don’t present ourselves that way.

Our “self-concept” arises from what we know about and, crucially, from what we believe about ourselves. In turn, it informs how we present ourselves to and in the world.

So, “who am I?” is answered not only by ourselves from within ourselves but also from outside ourselves by those who reflect back to us the story we are telling them about who we are.

Complicated? Possibly. Ongoing and forever being refined? Absolutely. 

Therefore, today is the perfect day to say, This is who I am (Amanda), and this is what I am (a writer). And then to get on being precisely that person for all the world to see.

***

Below is an edited version of a piece I wrote recently for my writing group. I wonder if it might kickstart your own reflections on those never-more-important-than-today questions: Who are you? What are you?

A MANIFESTO IN THREE PARTS: Being a writer-artist

Own it

I hear Febe’s voice saying, “Don’t say ‘just’ your opinion, Amanda; it’s your opinion I want on my writing. I am asking you for it. Step into and own it.”

This was almost two decades ago now. We were doing our masters together and had gravitated towards each other on the first evening of our first residency. We clicked and have remained friends and writing associates ever since. For decades, Febe used her writing skills to craft documents that helped raise funds for non-profit and charitable work. Last year she wrote and published a book based on her expertise. In the past few years, she has turned her hand, quite literally, to the making of delicate porcelain objects. Febe is an artist.

I, too, am an artist.

I don’t wear a smock or work with clay. I don’t have a pottery studio happily muddled with tools and work in progress. I have a desk, some notebooks, a laptop, many pens. I am quite ordinary. And — and this thought fascinates me — I think many artists who produce (sometimes) exquisite work of one kind or another, are exactly that: Ordinary. Simple. Everyday. They do their work, they own their work, they share their work.

Art is work: Doing it. Owning it. Sharing it.

That is the writer-artist I am today.

Throw yourself into it

One day in ballet class when I was about 10 years old, we were instructed to do pirouettes diagonally across the studio floor. I faltered. I so badly wanted mine to be as perfect as my best friend Andrea’s were, but I lacked, maybe, the skill and, maybe, the confidence. Then she whispered in my ear, “Just throw yourself into it, Amanda. Don’t overthink it.” That encouragement was what I needed: I threw myself into the pirouettes and I made a beautiful diagonal across the floor and I felt the power and the thrill of executing something physical by first owning it in my mind.

Be it

My writing process has changed over the past year or so, but I’m not sure you’d notice the changes from the outside. However, on the inside, I am feeling more confident, more genuine, more seasoned as a writer-artist.

I have greater confidence that I will write, and that I will continue to write, regardless of all else. I am more discerning in how I write what I write. I am driven to write — sometimes out of creative urgency, sometimes in response to an external commitment.

My writing is how I investigate myself and my living in the world. My objective is to illuminate for me and, I hope, for my readers, too, a particular view of, or view into, the world.

If I were to create a collage of myself as writer-artist today, I would no longer centre the photo of me age 10 at my first-ever typewriter. I would centre a window, open to a view with a singular bird or tree or flower in focus through that open window.

I am a writer-artist.

..............................................................................................................

To receive my weekly blogpost in your inbox, email fiveyearsawriter at gmail dot com. Simply put SUBSCRIBE in the subject line. 

Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.

Flamingos photo by Vincent van Zalinge on Unsplash (not exactly what I was looking for, but I couldn't find an open window "with a singular bird or tree or flower in focus")