Dear Becky,
Hey you! We haven’t talked in soooo long. I’d apologize for that, but then you’d tell me not to. You’d remind me that friendship goes both ways and that you haven’t written in a while too. Thank you for that.
Anyhow, I had some thoughts about the new year whirling around for some time now and I haven’t really known how to tell you. I have some big things on the horizon, but it’s probably not what you’re thinking. So here goes…
Have you ever prayed for a theme word or words for the year ahead? Do you take the time to reflect on where you’ve been in order to set new goals for where you’re going? This has been a yearly practice for me since I became a business owner. This annual practice has been quite the centering force and it’s always fascinating to see what bubbles to the surface. I often find that my goals surprise me and if I may be so vulnerable to share what’s been on my heart for the new year--it’s the word reconciliation.
Have you ever felt like your heart was divided? Like there are two parts of the same heart diametrically opposed to one another? It’s problematic. You see, by giving your full attention to one side, you wrestle with imbalance and the feeling that you’re missing out on something else—possibly great. I have two loves, Becky...two oppositional career aspirations. I have never understood how these two parts fit together and it has been a great source of frustration for me. Until recently…
Let me tell you a story, Becky. It’s one you’ve heard before, but I’ve discovered a surprise ending.
Do you remember the night in high school when my oldest brother finally invited me hang out with him and his friends? It was the first time I'd been granted the “cool enough” card as the baby sister. What an unexpected thrill! It turned out to be one of the most memorable nights of my life, but for reasons we never expected. You know how the story goes, Becky. You remember how even though my ride and I left the restaurant first, my brother and the rest of his friends made it home before us. You know the part about the phone call that came in from a bystander informing them that there had been an accident. You’ve heard it told of the horror my mother felt not knowing if I was dead or alive or what hospital I’d be transported to. You know how my family raced around North Dallas searching multiple hospitals before finding me at Parkland—the nearest fully equipped trauma unit at the time. You know that I’d taken the brunt of a side impact collision at high speeds and that I sustained head trauma, broken bones, and plenty of bruises and scars I still wear today. You’ve heard me speak of the confusion after waking in the back of an ambulance, not knowing my own name, and how I slipped in and out of consciousness. You’ve heard me tell of the vulnerability I felt when my gasoline soaked clothing was cut off my broken body in the back of an ambulance with only a thin white sheet shielding my nakedness from what felt like the world. I lost my favorite Lilith Fair shirt that night. But I don’t need to remind you.
You also know how grateful I was for the quality of care and reassurance I received from the two medics that night in spite of the garden hose they called an IV needle and the pain of the C-Collar resting on my broken bones. You know how my fragmented memories of that night became a source of inspiration as I recognized a need for a female presence, in a male dominated profession. You’ve heard me recount the stories. You were there during my fire department internship and through my EMT certification the following year. You were there when I went off to Texas Tech University to study nursing. I wanted to be a flight nurse, Becky. But something happened—the pull of the Art building I walked by every day became more than I could bear. I remember our late night debates about how crazy/exciting/foolish it might be to change my major and explore fine art. You stood by me when I took the plunge, but I’m not sure I’ve ever told you how much I missed emergency medicine. I was good at it, Becky! I think everyone assumed that I’d divorced it and never looked back. I didn’t. The truth is, I secretly asked that life to wait for me. I found my love of first responding at such a young age and I threw myself at it, but I’d never given myself the chance to explore other avenues. I needed time and it graciously provided until my pursuits of family-life took me so far away that it seemed impossible to go back. It was like two halves of my heart had been severed permanently.
It wasn’t until recently, that I realized it was possible to pursue both--possible to be an EMT and a Fine Art Photographer—possible to still prioritize family above all else. Not only is it possible, but I’ve come to believe it is necessary! Becky, I’m renewing my EMT certification in the beginning of 2021. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, and maybe some concerns. I do too. But here is what I know:
Living through a pandemic is tough. Homeschooling kids is tough! Keeping a fine art career afloat is exeedingly tough! Turns out people don’t really visit art galleries, attend many workshops, or purhcase a lot of prints during a pandemic. You might wonder if this is me giving up, it’s not. Yes, this year threatened to ruin me creatively-speaking. However, the constant uphill battle of a fine art career coupled with the strain of unforseen circumstances has shown me that sometimes it’s not healthy or beneficial to place financial responsibility on your creativity. There are seasons when creativity needs more support than your audience can provide—and that is OKAY!
In September, I found myself in the back of an ambulance for the first time in nearly 20 years and it awakened something in me. So when I tell you this, please know that this is me pursuing reconciliation with part of myself that has been dormant—part of me that is poised and ready to take the yoke of financial responsibility off of my creativity. I want to see what my creativity looks like when it’s untethered from monetary restraints. This is me fighting for art—fanning its flame when 2020 threatened to snuff it out. But even more than that, this is a step toward reconciling two halves of the same heart—a heart that longs to meet people in their brokenness and offer care and support both practically and spiritually. This is me refusing to accept the cultural expectation that a career must be a singular pursuit and for the first time in my adult life these two parts of me finally make sense together.
This is me, Becky.
All the best in 2021,
-Lauren