“You remind me of a pinball machine,” Rick said. He smiled at me.
We have been working together for the past four months. Time spent together each month on zoom; he shows up with more curiosity than my cat and ears that listen at some kind of super-frequency. I show up and he asks me all about me and art and whatever I’m up to for an hour (which my ego enjoys). He then sends me a summary of our conversations, along with suggestions for topics I could write about. It is a thoroughly enjoyable relationship.
Taking this journey together has highlighted a particular pattern.
I change direction more times than the cock on my cowshed.
Over the past four months I have changed the name of my Substack three times, told Rick I’m focussing on writing now and forever. Told him I’m focussing on Human Design, now and forever. Told him I’m focussing on my art, now and forever.
This is not just a four month thing (LOLs if you know me).
Because how we do anything is how we do everything.
Certain I was a magpie in a previous life, I have cupboards and a hard drive full of bright shiny objects I have collected over the decades. I have certificates in every subject you can name. I own roughly a thousand websites and domains. I have lived in Australia and New Zealand and France and London. I have worked for the NHS and a large corporate and invented an online coaching tool and changed the lives with those with anxiety and am responsible for acres and acres of flowers being grown and given away all across the UK every year. I paint large abstracts on canvas but I also love making tiny watercolours on paper and sunsets in oil.
My frustration at myself became obvious when Rick and I began to talk about his noticing of my pin-balling and its relationship to my work.
“And how’s that working for you?” said Rick.
My first answer was the obvious one.
“It’s not. I’m fifty four. My friends have all developed mastery in their field because they have invested years and years into their thing and now they have something to show for it. They have created their bodies of work. They have succeeded. I am always starting with a blank page.”
I held up my hands and showed him their emptiness.
“I have nothing.”
“So, how’s that working for you?” said Rick again.
I knew what he wanted. I’ve been a coach for years too. The right answer was: ‘It’s not, and I’m going to change.” This would be an epiphany moment, after which point, all my ducks would get their arses into a row.
My fuck-you went up as it always does, a hangover from the days my Mum would say to me ‘What would you like to say to your sister now?’ after I had punched her on the nose.
But then, I actually did have an epiphany. (Damn, Rick is clever).
“It gives me the most interesting life,” I said. “And I like having an interesting life.”
And just like that, ‘having an interesting life’ jumped ahead of ‘getting ahead in the game’ in my priority list.
Actually, it didn’t. (Changes her mind in under 3 seconds.)
I realised ‘having an interesting life’ has always been a priority. Otherwise my life could never have been the way it has been.
There’s nothing to see here.
Carry on as as I am.
Doing everything how I do anything.
My bright shiny object collection is, in truth, the magic that brings all the layers and elements into my art. A little bit of this, a dash of that, a splash of the other and voila - something completely unique that has never been seen before and never will be seen again.
This one’s called The Sorceress. She embodies our connection to something greater than ourselves. She is the worker of magic and miracles and holds a profound wisdom about life. Find her alongside other originals here.
Let me know if you find yourself to be a fellow magpie :)
Until next time,
Nic x
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