Visions

I’ve been having visions since I was a child.

I don’t mean hallucinations or ecstatic visitations, but as far back as I can remember, I have seen fully formed in my mind the things I want to make and do. My predominantly visual way of thinking and processing also has a powerful impact on the way I experience the world.

When I was very young, my mind used visual reasoning to fill the gaps in my understanding. Not knowing how a small metal box turned soft bread into crispy toast, I envisioned a little woman working down inside the toaster, cooking the bread by waving her heating knife over its surface. Once, when the toast popped up dark brown and overcooked, I sent it back down through the slot for the little woman to fix it. She must have been annoyed at the re-do because she sent the slice back charred and smoking.

My visual way of processing was partnered with visual projecting, imagining wonderful things that should exist (like a secret passageway hidden at the back of my closet) but did not. I visualized other scenarios that were arguably less fantastical, but still not in the realm of reality for a young child. When I passed an empty storefront, I’d imagine owning the space and the type of business I’d fill it with - maybe a bookstore / pet store combination venture. I’d visualize how I’d arrange the merchandise and what I’d place in the front window.

I imagined possibilities and potentialities, seeing and feeling the amazing what-ifs so vividly and powerfully that the yearning for them to be real was almost physically painful.

Naturally, I applied these visions of possibility to my creative activities as well. I knew the drawings and paintings and clay figures I wanted to make. I could see the details and end products so clearly in my mind, but my little hands could not deliver.

I felt I was persistently dreaming beyond my means.

The disappointment ran deep and soaked down into the grooves of my brain. I became skeptical of my visions and carried that perspective into adulthood. I had learned - or so I believed - that the physical reality of my creations would never match their imagined potential. The experience of unattaining felt so familiar that I habitually tempered my enthusiasm, finding reasons not to get too excited about a project or possibility. I even began to feel embarrassed in advance when I had an idea, already anticipating having to explain to others why the big-amazing-thing I’d been so excited about wasn’t going to happen.

However, I am at essence a maker; the impulse to visualize and make manifest cannot be suppressed. I continued on in my crafting and making and creating, and gradually - braided in with the skepticism - I learned to weave in a healthier way of approaching my visions.

I learned to be more excited by the process - by seeing what I would learn and where it would lead - rather than trying to match an end product with an original vision.

I learned to scale my expectations while still pressing gently but persistently against the edges of my skillset.

The frustrating gap between vision and execution is incredibly common, as Ira Glass famously described it, even for those who become professional artists. Unfortunately, many people succumb to the frustration and quit on the disappointment side of the gap, never building a bridge across to creative satisfaction. I determined that would not be me.

Over time - the further I stretched in my creative pursuits - the final products would often exceed the original visions or wonderfully deviate from the initial concepts. Ideas and inspirations would tumble in and stack up upon themselves, resulting in something more satisfying that I had originally envisioned.

Now that I know this is the way of it, I can start toward a vision with the unabashed enthusiasm of my younger self, announcing, “I’ll just see where it takes me!”

I know that my first imagining is just the seed, not the full-grown forest. It’s a seed that will germinate, grow, and evolve over time and through process. I can follow that magical, chemical rush of creation and not decide in advance what it must yield.

That’s what I’m doing with LIYF. I do have a vision for what this could be, but I’m comfortable simply starting where I am right now, offering what I have right now, and seeing what develops. This site and its offerings are seeds; maybe LIYF will plant something inspiring or even transformative in you.