“Me? A firefighter?”
I still remember when I was in elementary school during some sort of special activity at the library where each student was asked what did we want to be when we grew up.
When my turn came, very manly I said that I wanted to be a firefighter.
However, at that time, I didn’t know what other options I had.
As you would have imagined, at that early age I only knew about a handful of professions: doctor, firefighter, policeman, and teacher.
In one way, I was a prisoner of my limited knowledge regarding the alternatives I could choose from.
It wasn’t until I got into my twenties that I saw how many different professions and jobs there were available.
Since then I have worked in retail stores, libraries, residential moving, health insurance sales, groceries, cleaning crew, call centers, mortgage banks, telemarketing, online businesses…
And no, I didn’t forget to include on that list firefighting… I just realized I don't have the balls to perform such a heroic role.
The point, anyway, is that my twenties have been the exploratory stage for my personal and professional development.
Exploring where do my weaknesses end and my strengths begin; what environments I feel more comfortable with; what type of work I enjoy doing the most, what I hate…etc.
When others look at my “resume” they get either confused, or concerned.
“Isn’t jumping from one thing to the other, changing directions, a clear sign that you are lost and don’t know what you want in life?”
My answer?: “Well, yes… And no…”
The exploration stage
I think it is very important to proactively look into other alternatives regardless of how certain you are of the ones you currently know of. At the bare minimum, I think one should keep their minds open.
Think about it.
I don’t think it is the same to do something because it’s the only option you know of or can choose from versus to do something because in spite of other options you still choose to do it because you want.
One is imprisonment, the other is free will.
For example, sometimes when I’m going to start a painting, I already have an end result in mind for how I want the painting to turn out.
But somehow, while painting, I get to this exploratory stage in which things start to develop in ways I didn’t anticipated.
I start seeing other alternatives for the artwork than the one I first envisioned, and that I would’ve never been able to envision had I not actually started moving forward with the painting process.
And if I end up sincerely recognizing that this other alternative is better, I adjust the colors and the brushstrokes accordingly even if that means that my already thought out end result doesn’t end up exactly as I first imagined, or different altogether.
Like with the painting that I made called “Vanishing” that talks about the fleeting temporality of our existence, which ended up looking completely different as to how I first saw it in my head, and, nevertheless, it ended up becoming one of my favorites paintings so far.
However, sometimes regardless of how many artistic visions come up along the way I wholeheartedly believe that my first vision for the painting is the winner.
If so, I’ll stick to my vision and make sure that every brushstroke I make and every color I put onto the canvas is aimed at making that vision come to reality, however messy the process seems at first, however long it takes.
As you can see, the bottom line in both cases is that I want to feel confident that I’m doing something because it feels right in my heart, and because it comes out of my own free will.
This means that sometimes I will change directions and get a little lost exploring before I choose to commit to something wholeheartedly.
As the old saying goes: “Sometimes you need to get lost to find your way.”
The weight of free will
However, you might think that the freedom resulting from your free will is all roses and rainbows.
Unfortunately, that’s not true.
As the great philosopher, Uncle Ben once said to Peter Parker in the Spiderman movie, “With great power comes great responsibility.”
Yes, due to free will you have the power to choose, but now you, and only you, are responsible for the consequences of your choices, however good, however bad they turn out to be.
(And yes, not choosing is also to choose: you’re choosing not to choose.)
Standing before the vast ocean of alternatives out there, the first thought appear: “Which alternative should I go with?”.
Before you realize it, this first innocent thought will take you to another thought, and then to another, and so on in an uncontrollable downward spiral.
When you finally come back to yourself, you realize you have a panic attack seasoned with a little of an existential crisis.
At that point, you have lost your freedom because in spite of all the options available, you still can’t choose one thing or the other: you’ve become a prisoner of your own freedom, paradoxical as it might sound.
Should you stay where you are at or take some risks to see what happens?
What if you choose an alternative believing is the best option to find out it was the wrong one later on, but now you can’t do anything about it?
What if while pursing that other choice you realized the first one you had was actually the best one, but now is gone?
Even worst, what if in your indecision you lose that once in a lifetime opportunity?
Free will is a heavy responsibility to bear.
Therefore, while you're free to change directions at any time, you're not free from the consequences and responsibilities that come with those choices.
The canvas of life
Whether you're unsure about which decision to make or unclear about the options available to you, the way some artists approach this problem when standing before the feared white and empty canvas might give you some insight.
At times, the challenge of coming up with something worth expressing through the brushtrokes and colors becomes too overwhelming for the artist.
There seem to be too many options, and paradoxically, none at the same time. “Which direction should I go?”
Less seasoned artists will put their brush down, and come back at it later on.
Their hope is that their indecision will cleared out when the gods of the muse strike at them, allowing them to feel confident to move forward with their artistic vision.
Sometimes that tactic works, but it’s not reliable.
Most of the time, when these less seasoned artists come back later on, the white canvas is still there, staring back at them with that annoying grin on its face, and the gods of the muse nowhere to be found.
More experienced artists, on the other hand, know better.
As one mentor once told me when I expressed some insecurities about a decision that needed to be made on my personal life: “Jason, it will always be easier to steer a car that is already moving, compared to one that is parked.”
In this sense, the more experienced artist will start doing something to the white canvas.
They will draw some lines, will splash the background with some color, make some doodles, and conjure random shapes.
Whatever it is; they just start interacting with the empty canvas once and for all.
To an outside observer, such a procedure would seem directionless.
And the statement would be accurate: in this beginning stage, sometimes the artist is lost, and no real progress seems apparent.
Soon, however, something very interesting starts to happen.
Like José Saborit explains in his book “What a painting gives.”, a dialogue between the artist and the canvas starts to develop.
A dialogue in which both parties are informing each other about what has to happen next, what changes need to be made, what doesn’t fit, where do each party will need to compromise, and when things will come to an end…
All of the sudden, the vast ocean of alternatives first encountered becomes smaller, more manageable, and less intimidating.
Each action becomes then increasingly more confident over time as more experience and wisdom is gained interacting with the canvas, the present reality, and ultimately, the only one that matters.
Finally, the hundreds of alternatives are reduced to one, and the path becomes clear. The artist finally is no longer lost; he has found his way.
To say “NO” is to say “YES”
When I think about it in retrospective, I’d say that the exploratory stage of my painting process is the most rewarding.
The reason for that, I believe, is that uncommitted and playful interaction with different potentialities.
Of course, like it is said: there is a time to play, and there is a time to put in the work (although I guess play and work do not necessarily exclude each other, but you know what I mean...).
By this I mean that the fear of losing one’s freedom to keep exploring other options should mature into a committed resolution to develop and enjoy the fruits that most times only comes after a long and sustained dedication to something.
Even in arts which is very playful by nature and allows for a flexibility which very few others areas of human experience can provide you with, the point will come when you need to commit to some artistic vision and fully develop it.
Imagine watching hundreds of movies you never finished watching. How can you truly say you got the most out of any of them…?
Like Greg Mckeown explains on “Essentialism: the discipline pursuit of less”, you will always be met with a trade off: to say “No” to something is to say “Yes” to another thing.
Because however capable you think you are, you won’t be able to do it all.
At some point you'll need to stop, and make the difficult decision to say “No” to many seemingly good options in order to focus and say “Yes” to the one you truly believe is the best, and keep marching forward.
Constraining as it might feel, it’s necessary.
There is always a limited amount of time, energy, and resources for one to make use of at any given time, anyway.
So why not to be proactive about this situation, and make your own decision as to how you are going to direct your finite resources?
It will feel less constraining if this decision of committing to something comes from the inside, as a deliberate and conscious decision, instead of it being imposed on you by force.
Avoid being reactive; be proactive: make the first move, set the terms.
Conclusion
There was an experiment described in the book “Art and Fear” by David Bayles and Ted Orland involving a pottery class divided into two groups. One group was going to be evaluated for the quality of one single work, and the other for the amount of work submitted.
Quality versus quantity.
By the end the best pots actually came from the quantity group, not the quality group.
Through repeated practice and trial and error, the quantity group learned and improved their skills naturally.
Meanwhile, the quality group became paralyzed by overthinking and perfectionism, often producing mediocre work despite their focus on making just one "perfect" piece.
In this sense, life is much the same.
Most of us are like the artist unsure of what to create but confident that by simply interacting with the blank canvas of life, committing to trust the process and listening to what it reveals along the way, the image will eventually become clear.
Like the quantity-focused potters, our growth and clarity come not from waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect circumstances, but from engaging wholeheartedly with our own lives, exploring, learning, and adjusting we go.
As I mentioned on a prior article “Making peace with your life”, we all have the obligation to provide our hearts with the opportunity to discover that which is actually worth living for.
If you have found it already, congratulations. No need for you to keep wasting more time exploring. Stick to it, and don’t let unnecessary ambition kill the joyful taste of your fruits!
If you haven’t found your answer yet, keep exploring. Your answer might be a few steps ahead of where you are at. Just keep your eyes opened and listen attentively.
The path will become clear eventually.
And you are right: one will never be able to explore every possible alternative there is, or even the full extent of that possibility which you do are experiencing.
But the ones you do get the chance to explore, even if they are short lived, will become a little piece of the puzzle called you.
Soon, you will start to put together all of these pieces of the you-puzzle and have a better understanding of who you are and what you stand for.
In that moment, you’ll come to appreciate your greatest and most important masterpiece: the one you’ve become along the way.
Author: Jason Berberena
Co-founder of Kreation Artzone, visual artist and writer.