Genius
Never am I more fully aware of my ineptitude than when encountering genius. This afternoon, my wife and I spent a few hours at a local arts festival. Some of the booths displayed photographs professionally mounted and framed by local photographers. I appraised the nature and power of the pictures for sale in each booth with my critical amateur eye. On several occasions, I thought, “My pictures are better than these. I could do this.” With each passing booth my cocky strut became more pronounced. Then, I found a couple of booths that blew me away. The colors on the photographs were perfect. The captured scenes pulled me into some mysterious and immeasurable place of emotion and transcendence. With humility, I engaged these masters in conversation that I might eat the crumbs that fall from their table.
Later, we made our way to the free concerts playing at the makeshift amphitheater. The first group, sang a little blues. It was pleasant, but nothing spectacular. Then a lone artist took his turn–a guitarist that made his simple instrument into a symphony of sound and engagement. The audience swelled, pulled in by the power of his music. They clapped and sang; they danced and swayed. Again, I experienced true art and I was humbled–not because I aspire to be a great musician (that will never happen), but because I saw genius at work.
In my job, I work with families who are struggling to hold it together. They make small steps of progress and we praise them. We tell them over and over, “you are where you are supposed to be.” To compare their own families to healthy families defeats them. So, when it comes to my art, I have to remind myself, “I am where I am supposed to be.” I’m making small steps toward genius (which, by the way, is a long way off). I celebrate genius. I stand in awe of it. At the same time, I have to remember not to compare myself to it. Rather, I must also celebrate where I am and find pleasure in that.
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