What Makes Your Heart Sing?

Thursday, September 11, 2014

As I was making my way through downtown on the way to meet a friend after work I happened to pause at an intersection.  I briefly struck up a conversation with a poet.  The man had three, crisp printed copies of some of his work.  I instantly found myself more enchanted by him than I ever have felt when I hear a certain woman (who frequents some of the same intersections…but in the mornings) reading directly from the Bible.  You can learn a lot about a person by their voice and the look in their eyes.  The Bible reading woman’s voice has a certain edge to it I don’t much care for.  The man I briefly spoke with this evening had a warmth in his eyes so antithetical to the coolness of this woman’s voice.

It frightens me a bit to contemplate living the life of an artist.  But I know I have always been an artist.  I believe there are many indicators of latent artists.  An appreciation of epic Russian literature could be taken as one.  A fascination with the interplay of light and shadow would be another.  An appreciation of the beauty of the male form would be still another.  An abhorrence for ugly architecture would be still another.  And here is an undeniable indicator: A person who does an adaptation of the song “Paint With All the Colors of the Wind” from the Disney movie.  If you do that you are hopelessly destined to always have the sensitivity of an artist!

From my earliest years of childhood I had an artist’s perspective on the world.  I loved to paint, to draw, to sing and to listen to the wind whisper in the trees.  I would climb trees partly for the purpose of listening to the beauty of the wind.  I was what many might call a sensitive boy.  Some would equate a finely tuned sensitivity with being an abnormal trait.  It can be difficult to be what psychologists call a highly sensitive person in a not so sensitive world.  Being especially sensitive made the hardship, abuse and chaos I experienced in my earliest years especially difficult to bear.  Too much of my childhood was the equivalent of living in a war zone.  It’s no wonder I would ultimately be diagnosed with PTSD.

I haven’t often tried to make a real living as an artist.  But now I am sincerely contemplating refocusing my life in that direction.  I had a moment of delight today that reminded me of how much I love the arts.  While at work at the Abbott Northwestern Hospital Foundation this morning a coworker and I conceived of a way to decorate a display case in which we are currently promoting an employee giving campaign.  There is an early childhood education center in the same building as the Foundation.  So suddenly we found ourselves imagining prominently displaying autumn themed art created by children who live and play in that center within that display case.  As I imagined the fun of creating such a display I had the thought go through my mind ‘My heart is singing’.  Yes my heart was indeed singing.  I think life is too short to do anything other than what makes your heart sing. 

Many would say the life of an artist is not a realistic one to try to live…at least not as the source of your sustenance.  I find myself inclined to agree…to a point.  But somehow I want the arts to be a bigger part of my life in the future.  After the journey I have made these last fifteen months I feel I owe it to myself to do something that makes my heart sing.

I have come to a renewed appreciation of the beautiful gift of my eyesight in the last fifteen months as well.  Whenever I see a blind person I think once more of the amazing gift of being able to see.  I find myself contemplating all the beautiful places I would like to still see.  I have seen so many beautiful places in the world.  I have traveled to places as diverse as Hawaii, Washington, Norway and Spain.  And somehow I want to find a way to share that beauty with others.  I want my future work to inspire others.