A query trouble has come upon me. Reading part 2 of Rima Staines' insightful interview Around the Table, I find myself musing on how being an artist affects my connections with people.
In my last post I said that one of the reasons I blog is to discover new friends and to offer friendship out to the world. That is certainly true. What I am realising right now, in my solar plexus, is how in some cases this dive into my creatrix heart pulls me further from other areas of my life weave.
There has to be sacrifice. As I allow the muse increasing control in my daily life (in between the obvious 'now I am doing art' bits), I am attracting beautiful, wonderful, inspirational people into my orbit. And, too, I am watching helplessly as other friends, also beautiful and wonderful and inspirational, spin out of my orbit, our hands outstretched in an attempt to regrasp even as we wave goodbye.
Signals in the dark
(Me in the middle)
I'm not talking about falling out with people, it is more subtle than that. Simply, perhaps, that as I become more definite about my shape I find I cannot tessellate, sit comfortably next to, people with whom I have shared space for years.
It is telling that these people are always on the fringes of my life. Those who are closest to my heart just crank up their magnetism to match mine and we are joined with greater strength.
So, in the midst of the joy which garnishes the days, I find a little hollow space for a lonely feeling as I let go of the people who can no longer recognise me for the friend they once met. I know this is okay, but I feel this is achey.
Always leaving someone behind
(Devon's Jurassic Coast)
And there is a question in me about who these peripheral, ephemeral friends were attracted to if not the real, creatrix me. It doesn't matter. It isn't quite me, so it doesn't quite work.
Now I have paused and asked myself, Who are these people I'm writing about? What are their names? And the answers are not clear. It is more that I feel I have chosen this mountain to climb and I can see lots of people I think I would love to climb with on another mountain; I remember us all gathering at the feet of our lives and making choices. I didn't know (despite being told) that when I chose where to climb, who to follow, who to tie myself onto, I also chose who I would not meet again until we Hallooed from distant peaks.
Myself and good friends
walking to Tyncornel Hostel
I am lonely for all the people climbing a different mountain to me. There is space in my heart for everybody, but time in my life for so few, it seems.
Wherever you climb, may the view be worth it.
Taken by my climbing partner Thomas Hine