Praxis: the process by which a theory, lesson, or skill is enacted, embodied, or realized.

I worry. Too much. About nearly everything. Was it always like this? I can’t remember. Surely it must be another one of the resounding changes that motherhood brought. Maybe it emerged with the stretch marks and tears that come now at even the slightest hint of sentimentality.

What I do know is that when it comes to certain things, like my work, or my personal success, the worry is downright paralyzing. I used to tell myself that I was just “gearing up,” and the pressure would serve me. Indeed, that drive to “do well” has paid off in many ways. But I’m learning slowly, that especially with regards to my creative drive and the mother/artist tight rope, the pressure to do well, may be hindering “the doing.”

The words of my advisor keep ringing in my head. “Just paint,” she’d say.

As if it were that easy. There are children and a husband and laundry and dishes and snuggles with the dog.  It was determined long ago, either by choice or necessity that my life would prioritize all of these things. I put them first, but offer myself distracted.  My head is so caught up in what “might be,” it’s blind to “the now.”

“Just paint.” She’d say.

I should be painting, I worry when I’m chatting with my teenage son. It won’t be finished, I think as I fumble through the monthly bills. How can I fit the work in? What if it isn’t dry? Is it good enough? These thoughts natter away from the corner of my mind that is supposed to be engaging in self-care. So, what can I do but sit down to make a plan? The voices eventually ebb as I convince myself I can juggle it all. But I aim high and fail fast. Every single time.

It’s that fear of that failure that has me chasing my tail, in a worry/plan cycle that never ends. I’m never fully here and now. And what I’m mostly NOT doing, is painting.

“Just paint.” She’d say.

Perhaps it’s beginning to make sense? I think I might understand…

Sometimes the paintings are wet. Sometimes they are not finished in time. Sometimes I make bad work, and I talk to my kids and snuggle my dog. THIS is my life. THIS is my praxis. It doesn’t need to be any more than it is in this moment. The rest will come, or maybe it won’t. But it doesn’t matter because I think I might finally sit down to “just paint.”