At the beginning of the year, I wanted to quit acting. I discovered that I was trapped by a host of frantic acting tics, and I didn't know how to escape. I'd watch tape after tape of myself doing the same thing. I left room after room fully aware that I had flailed my way through an entire audition.
I wasn't good, I decided, so I should quit.
(I was soon after cast in a short film and several online productions. It was the most I’d ever worked as an actor in NYC… so God had a laugh about that!)
Then, in recent months, I started co-writing a play with Danielle. And during the writing process and immediately after our first reading, I wanted to quit writing altogether. I had an onslaught of imposter syndrome: This girl can really write and I really can't, I thought. I should just give up now.
As you can see, I’m prone to a defeatist attitude. And the root of it is shame, which comes from a fear of rejection. “Shame reveals an instinctive need to be accepted and affirmed by the other.” – Pope John Paul II.
In short, when my creative weaknesses are exposed, I feel ashamed. I want to quit because I don’t like rejection. I don’t like my failures. I don’t like bad opinions. It feels like a bad report card.
But recently, reading and studying parts of Genesis has challenged the way I’ve viewed creativity. In Theology of the Body, Pope John Paul II reminds us of the foundational truth that creation is a gift.
When God gave us His image, we received a gift. And only we (in all of creation) are the gift-receivers that are now capable of gift-giving. Creation was a gift of love, and this truth should affect our own creative practices.
So I am forced to reflect. Do I think of creativity as a gift to give away? Or do I, like the builders of the tower of Babel, use creativity to “make a name for myself”?
If you’ve been tracking with me on the “I want to quit acting” and “I want to quit writing” journey, then you’d know the answer. I tend to think that if my products are acceptable, then I am acceptable. So I tend to seek glory through what I can make.
But if I can remember that creation is a gift of love, I can look beyond myself and the false notion that my abilities define me. Because I was created, I have intrinsic value. So making stuff isn’t really about my worth—it really is more about love and generosity.
So let’s make lots of clumsy art. And let’s grow and improve. Because the verdict of your work doesn’t have to be crippling, and the purpose of your work is infinitely rewarding.
