Doodling

I’ve started doodling a lot lately. While I’ve gotten over a lot of “stage fright” and ego around writing and first drafts, for some reason my fear of being bad at visual art kept me away from a whole arena of creativity I used to hold dear. As a kid I went to art camp. I painted, drew, sculpted, even did claymation, with a sense of entitlement and fearlessness. But at a certain point, I started to fear that I’d be bad at the art that I wanted to make. and that I would “waste” or “ruin,” materials.

I’ve had a painting in my head for at least five years, and I even bought paint and a canvas and brushes. But I don’t know where or how to start. I don’t trust my skills. I’m afraid of not being the artist I can be in my head as long as I never try. And it’s silly. Who cares? Who gets to decide what’s good? Why am I depriving myself of joy to maintain a false sense of self? That’s not serving me in any way.

So I’m working on building myself up. Getting okay with imperfection. Working up the muscle of visual creation, so my hands want to make things, and I remember the feel of markers and paint.

Today, that looks like drawing shapes on a tiny envelope. I like that when viewed alone, none of those shapes are perfect—all of them are specifically imperfect. But together, that imperfection is bright and colorful and charming. And the next time I send a care package to a friend, that cheerful envelope will hold a little love note. Nothing has been wasted. Only improved. And my day was a little brighter because I spent some time doodling.