Having gone through a myriad of hobbies my entire life, from singing to stitching, I take great joy in the idea that art has been something I’ve more or less stuck with my entire life. What started as something simple as the wondrous joy of knowing I can replicate something from life into paper, has now become something beautiful that I can’t describe with any combination of words.
Once I had reached a point where I collected copious amounts of art, I became obsessed with arranging them chronologically and showing them to whoever would see them. Maybe I enjoyed the validation, maybe I enjoyed seeing the progress through time, maybe it was a reminder that I am good at something in my life, or maybe it was to reaffirm that I have not given up on something like I have given up on so much before. I do not know anymore, for I find that the lines of reason often blur together.
Usually, after I’ve made people sit through 1 folder and 5 books worth of art, it’s easy to tell they’ve zoned out by book 3 because praises are murmured and that ends there (at least, in reference to the older folks I’ve shown my work to). But on that fine day, I found myself having hefty conversations about purpose and meaning, as opposed to the usual questions I would get. I was asked questions like what the purpose of my art is. That I should shift my focus away from faces because it was ‘child’s play’, that I should make use of the blessing I had or that it was worthless. Now, I understand most of these sentiments when I put myself in the shoes of someone a generation away, but it really got me thinking about some things.
What is the purpose of my art? What is the purpose of anything we do? Now, I’m aware looking for the purpose of life is not the rabbit hole I want to be going down on a Monday morning at 10 am, but granted, the spiral had started by then. Do the things we do need to serve a higher purpose? Are we put on this earth to serve a purpose beyond ourselves? Do I owe the world my ‘’talent’’ or ‘’abilities’’? Is wanting to keep our work personal intrinsically selfish? Is every activity in our life only worth something if we make it a job, monetize it, and trademark it? If we choose to let it remain in the world as is it, does that somehow make it less valuable? Do our lives only acquire meaning when we dedicate it to the service of others? Do we owe people the pain, sadness and sorrow that is entrenched in our work? And the truth is, I do not know because neither am I God or the sole authority on what is right.
Growing up, when asked the question of what I wanted to be, I always went through everything under the sun, from a paediatrician to an American pop star (don’t ask). Eventually, I landed on being an artist, because obviously, that was the easiest choice. Because what was the point of doing something for years, if I was not going to make something of it? I eventually decided against it for a variety of reasons, a major one being that I did not want to monetize the one thing I loved, or study it and then lose passion for it completely because it had now become a chore.
We live in a largely digital age, which obviously comes with its own ups and downs. You no longer need to choose one thing too strictly your entire life because you can always freelance, or take up an online internship or course, the sky is the limit. But this also means the awareness that there is something you can always do with your hobbies. You crochet? Why not sell them? You write? Why not make a blog? Do you like to read? Have you considered booktube? We are not exactly forced to monetize it all, but we’re not exempted from the pressure of it either. Now, there is quite a bit of nuance within this idea that I can’t quite give justice to it here. Sometimes even an artist doesn’t wanna be making the same sticker for the 939th time in a row or a writer doesn’t want to write an article about something they could care less about, but if it pays the bills, we can’t exactly complain. Being able to enjoy your hobbies or experiences for what they are also comes with a large amount of privilege, the privilege of choice in whether they want to monetize it, being in a position to simply exist without negative consequences, and whether they are afforded the time and space to explore that and so on.
But is trying to attach a goal or a purpose to everything good in life sucking the ever-loving joy out of it? Is our existence less than the existence of someone who lives in service of others? How important is leaving a mark or legacy? I’ve grown more liberal with my ideas and notions of purpose, but that’s mostly due to my depression, I no longer think everything needs a grand idea for it to mean something because it is the little things of a day that often keep me going but neither do I think it’s wrong if someone else feels the opposite.
Considering that I was hit with the emo-girl virus that comes with depression for the past 5 years, I’m not the greatest person to ask about the future or hope, because my answers would just be a variation of suicide jokes, just ask my friends. But even then, I will be the last person to chide someone about what they choose to do with their life. Now that’s not to say I believe I am inherently better because my view on purpose is so vague and neither am I saying that people with rigid views of purpose are wrong. We can get so lost in a higher purpose that sometimes we can forget it’s okay to not have one.
At the end of the day, it comes down to perspective, some people cannot do anything if they don’t have a goal in mind. Some people cannot do anything unless it serves a higher purpose. But some of us don’t wanna think about what our place in the universe is and I think that’s alright. And I think we should let one another have the space to exist because the world is a big place, and maybe it’s okay to take a minute and let yourself exist. Maybe you will figure it out, maybe not, but I think that’s perfectly alright.
A lot of things are, just because. Why do people take themselves out on dates? Why do I not wanna sell the hobby I’ve had for 11 years? Why do we simply want to take a walk sometimes? Why do we drink tea in the morning? Why do we do the things we do? Just because. Because the answers can vary from nothing to everything and that’s alright. Sometimes life is about making brownies on a school night because your friends like fighting over it, it is about how your best friend hugs you every time she knows it will be the last time until she sees you for a while, sometimes it’s the fleeting touches and the lingering hands, and that is just as valid as the big things. Your worth is not dependent on the value you generate and is that a bit selfish? Maybe. But in this big universe, I think we are owed some moments of selfishness.