I want to create beautiful things
It’s a little bit funny and a little bit sad. My life to this point has been focused primarily on muddling through, trying to be happy. In work, I have fixated on being competent; on making things that work.
Today I had one of those myriad little moments of epiphany. Everyone has them: one day, as you’re walking down the same street you walk every day, you’ll realize something profound about your life. Maybe it will be a decision. Perhaps it’s the solution to a problem you thought was intractable. There’s an excellent chance it won’t seem profound at the moment. But, every once in a while, the profundity will awe — perhaps even frighten.
Upon waking today, I realized that I have spent so much energy in my life trying to create the practical, the functional. And while I’ve always strived for a certain elegance in these things, what I really want to do is create beautiful things. At first, I thought this was just a reaction to seeing, and being inspired by, the beautiful work of the many artistic friends. I’m no stranger to the “I wish I could do that” reaction. So, I went on with my morning.
As I sat puzzling over yet another context diagram for yet another software project I am considering, the feeling hit me again. Why am I doing this?, said that irritating little voice in the back of my skull, I could be _inspiring_ people! I dismissed that little voice, of course. We all want to inspire people, I think, but I’ve never really had the knack for that. Artistic ability seems to have landed on other members of my family, while I got the analytical capabilities. And, really, I shouldn’t complain — that analytic capability has served me well professionally and personally, and what I do has real value to people.
That nagging little voice is more persistent than I could have imagined. Oh, functional is all very well and good, it insisted, over the implied objections of my turkey and provolone sandwich. But functionality doesn’t get people through the rough spots of their lives. What, when you’re on your death bed, in immeasurable pain, you’ll recite regular expressions for comfort? Manipulative little prick: let me eat my damned sandwich!
I still couldn’t shake that idea from my head, though. Not because it was really an effective argument — I experience plenty of beauty, and I can take comfort from that, when comfort is what I require. No, it bugged me because it seemed probable: maybe I would take solace in some piece of elegant code. And that scared the hell out of me. And not just because my internal dialouge was interfering with my lunch.
Most probably because of that fear, I spent some time actively thinking about things — do I really want to focus on creating beauty? Is it more important that what I’m doing? Can I create beautiful things?
I’m not sure I really know the answers. For now, I’ve realized that I do want to put my hand to creating things of beauty. I want to inspire people in the way that I’ve been inspired by my partner, my friends, and countless artists I know only through their work. The only questions that remain are whether I have it in me to create such inspiring work, and whether I am prepared to let my other pursuits take a back seat to developing what ability I might have.