"Things I hadn't looked at 'til now."
I have some lofty goals. I suppose, all things considered, the goals aren't exactly lofty. For the most part, they seem completely reasonable and well-conceived. Not nearly as imposing or out-of-reach as the word "lofty" implies.
Yet, because I have such difficulty focusing on more than one personal task at a time, I generally paralyze myself by acknowledging the tasks I hope to complete. I get overwhelmed. Not only by the sheer number of goals, but also by fears that my efforts will never be good enough or that my decision-making will lead me down the wrong path.
For a while, merely acting and seeing tasks through to completion was enough. I could trust that, should some aspect of that task need repair or improvement, I would see that project through also. The action was most important. It guaranteed advancement of a project, regardless of its expected trajectory because due attention was being paid.
This is how I handled my employment as Gallery Manager and Executive Director at Buckham Gallery. The day-to-day tasks, the general operations of the place to make it presentable to the public, were often easy to complete or delegate. They were the priority. Once I had those things worked out, I worked toward more ambitious projects. Grant-writing, event-planning, community outreach, establishing procedures for operation and governance that should have been established at the organizations inception. It was difficult work, but I was obsessed with seeing things through. It stressed me out, wearing on me until I began sleepwalking every night, but I loved my job.
I loved my job. I felt indebted to my job. Obligated. The love obligated me and made me fiercely loyal. I eventually believed I owed Buckham Gallery, Flint and myself the opportunity to make the floundering non-profit great again.
I loved my job, but it caused me seemingly-endless problems. It wasn't until later that I realized I'd married Buckham Gallery, its mission, and all the people who helped direct it to its goals. Most of the time, the union was forced. The membership was split; while mostly everyone appreciated my efforts to improve the space, there were enough dissenters who disapproved that most changes in the organization were fought tooth and nail. I fought to improve the organization's governance, to improve the gallery's presence in the community, to improve the community's opinion of the gallery, and to ultimately restore the gallery's reputation as Flint's leading contemporary art space. For the bulk of my employment, I made $10.00 per hour. It wasn't a livable wage, but I was committed to the project. I was all-in.
It was presumed that all of my actions were selfish. I pushed the gallery to change because I personally wanted to gain from it. I wanted more money. I wanted benefits. I wanted to attend the College Art Association conferences because I could seek arts-related employment elsewhere by attending. It was presumed that my actions, selfishly-motivated, were not in the best interest of the organization.
What those presumptive nay-sayers didn't see? My commitment to Buckham Gallery had a profoundly negative affect on most of my personal life. My partner and I fought about this commitment; I was cheating on her with an organization that didn't appreciate me, didn't pay me enough, and required me to be on-call 24/4. I often donated my time, effort and money to help see things through. Friendships floundered. Much of my work as a playwright was put on hold or otherwise compromised. While I attended out-of-state conferences, mostly on my own dime, I utilized the time to better hone grant-writing techniques and recruit artists for upcoming exhibition seasons.
I am selfish.
To think, had we not moved to California, I would probably be working there today. Despite everything. Despite that all of the fighting has, in many ways, broken me. Because I loved my job. I loved pushing myself beyond my limits. I loved the challenge. I loved the people who cared, really cared, about the best interest of the gallery and its community.
I am a battered spouse.
And I'm afraid of finding a new job. I don't know if I can remarry yet.
Yet, because I have such difficulty focusing on more than one personal task at a time, I generally paralyze myself by acknowledging the tasks I hope to complete. I get overwhelmed. Not only by the sheer number of goals, but also by fears that my efforts will never be good enough or that my decision-making will lead me down the wrong path.
For a while, merely acting and seeing tasks through to completion was enough. I could trust that, should some aspect of that task need repair or improvement, I would see that project through also. The action was most important. It guaranteed advancement of a project, regardless of its expected trajectory because due attention was being paid.
This is how I handled my employment as Gallery Manager and Executive Director at Buckham Gallery. The day-to-day tasks, the general operations of the place to make it presentable to the public, were often easy to complete or delegate. They were the priority. Once I had those things worked out, I worked toward more ambitious projects. Grant-writing, event-planning, community outreach, establishing procedures for operation and governance that should have been established at the organizations inception. It was difficult work, but I was obsessed with seeing things through. It stressed me out, wearing on me until I began sleepwalking every night, but I loved my job.
I loved my job. I felt indebted to my job. Obligated. The love obligated me and made me fiercely loyal. I eventually believed I owed Buckham Gallery, Flint and myself the opportunity to make the floundering non-profit great again.
I loved my job, but it caused me seemingly-endless problems. It wasn't until later that I realized I'd married Buckham Gallery, its mission, and all the people who helped direct it to its goals. Most of the time, the union was forced. The membership was split; while mostly everyone appreciated my efforts to improve the space, there were enough dissenters who disapproved that most changes in the organization were fought tooth and nail. I fought to improve the organization's governance, to improve the gallery's presence in the community, to improve the community's opinion of the gallery, and to ultimately restore the gallery's reputation as Flint's leading contemporary art space. For the bulk of my employment, I made $10.00 per hour. It wasn't a livable wage, but I was committed to the project. I was all-in.
It was presumed that all of my actions were selfish. I pushed the gallery to change because I personally wanted to gain from it. I wanted more money. I wanted benefits. I wanted to attend the College Art Association conferences because I could seek arts-related employment elsewhere by attending. It was presumed that my actions, selfishly-motivated, were not in the best interest of the organization.
What those presumptive nay-sayers didn't see? My commitment to Buckham Gallery had a profoundly negative affect on most of my personal life. My partner and I fought about this commitment; I was cheating on her with an organization that didn't appreciate me, didn't pay me enough, and required me to be on-call 24/4. I often donated my time, effort and money to help see things through. Friendships floundered. Much of my work as a playwright was put on hold or otherwise compromised. While I attended out-of-state conferences, mostly on my own dime, I utilized the time to better hone grant-writing techniques and recruit artists for upcoming exhibition seasons.
I am selfish.
To think, had we not moved to California, I would probably be working there today. Despite everything. Despite that all of the fighting has, in many ways, broken me. Because I loved my job. I loved pushing myself beyond my limits. I loved the challenge. I loved the people who cared, really cared, about the best interest of the gallery and its community.
I am a battered spouse.
And I'm afraid of finding a new job. I don't know if I can remarry yet.