I am just having too much fun not to show you.
If I skip writing in favor of photography and watercolors, I may never rack up 10,000 hours. But who cares? I’m not Writer, I’m Grace. And my love for this world is omnivorous. I’m a dabbler, not a master.
Dabbling doesn’t leave room for mastery in every area. Or even adequacy, to be honest. Each time I try something new, the master says, “Just ten minutes a day! Ten minutes a day and you’ll keep the words flowing / you’ll develop a more observant eye / your heart will stay healthy / your limbs will grow strong / you won’t lose your Greek / you’ll expand your vocabulary / you’ll have that Beethoven down in no time. Just ten minutes!”
Oh, but can you imagine that routine??
Ten minutes x a zillion well-intentioned activities = too many hours for my day.
So I settle for mediocrity. I dabble. There aren’t many things I do for ten minutes a day for more than two days in a row. Which makes me an unremarkable painter, a decent writer, a pretty good breadmaker, an average gardener. But I love them all! I couldn’t give them up.
I’d like to think that dabbling makes me interesting. That exposure to so many things has a cross-deepening effect. Each informs the others.
Though I haven’t been writing with as much discipline lately (certainly not ten minutes a day), I have been painting.
Nope, I have next to no idea what I’m doing. Don’t know how to mix colors or how to hold my brush, much less how to translate the loveliness of life into color and light and shadow and shape. That watercolor cyclomen up there? Give it a mauve mat and a gold frame and you’d have yourself a great piece of eighties hotel decor.
But getting to paint a quick sketch of the boots I bought with the birthday money from my grandmas and send it to them to show what I picked? Yep, it’s been pretty fun.