Last week I attended a celebratory event. People were invited to the centennial of an old, restored industrial building. The person who owns it has made it into a gallery for her art and also an event space for weddings and parties. I expected to meet people and enjoy some good conversation, food and music. I looked forward to congratulating the owner and proprietor on her achievement.
To my dismay, when I walked around looking at the space and the artwork, I was smitten with envy and jealousy. Not fun feelings. I then felt angry and ashamed with myself. I am a mature, accomplished adult in my own right, how could I have these childish feelings? But I couldn’t shake them. They were intense. I stayed for a while and did meet some people and enjoy good conversations, food and music, but all under a pall. I went home earlier than I expected, shaken.
For a while I wrestled with the aftermath of what I had felt. I vacillated between rationalizing and minimizing what I had experienced and chastising myself for my childishness. But I couldn’t shake the negative taste of the whole thing.
Because I have had a 25-plus year’s career as a therapist, I tend to drill down to uncover my motives and impulses. Time usually mellows one’s emotions, and it did in this case. I was then better able to analyze what my experience meant. This is what I realized. I have spent the last ten years focused on furthering my education and establishing a new career path. My love of painting and art-making necessarily took a back seat. More recently I have sporadically worked in my studio, but haphazardly, not with any clear goals. I have been keeping my hand in it but no more than that.
What I saw at the celebration was the work of someone who has been working steadily for some time with intentionality and probably specific goals. When I realized this, I knew what I had to change. A part of me that has been dormant was demanding to be heard. I need to become intentional about my artwork and set some goals. When I began to think this way, I immediately felt better and any feelings of envy vanished. The source of my envy was the attention and purpose that the building owner focused on her art, not her art style or paintings. In fact, I am now actually thankful for the experience. My unconscious was telling me it’s time for this part of me to come forth again. Listen!
The broader lesson is that our feelings, even unpleasant ones, can have a positive purpose if we are open to explore their sometimes hidden meaning for us.