Details, Schmeetails

I am not a detail person. Big picture all the way, here.

Problems ensue when I simplify things into neat stacks with broad brush generalizations. Apologies to anyone who has ever voiced a racist, defeatist, misogynist or sexist opinion in my presence. My brain knows it may have been a thoughtless blip and not a true assessment of your character, but my heart will shut down and shut you out.

There are times when one should look beyond the big picture.

But sometimes, details can threaten to impede my progress. My doc recently suggested that I measure the oh-so-good and good-for-you ingredients that go into the large smoothies I mix up a few times a week. Has she met me? Sorry Doc, I will not be gathering the intel to know how many days each smoothie lasts then multiply the RDA of said ingredients times that number. While it would ensure that ideal amounts are consumed every day, such tedium would turn me away from the smoothie ritual all together. So, in plops a large spoonful of cooked, steel cut oatmeal and a handful of fresh spinach or kale. No measuring of the black beans, beet juice and fresh fruits. You’d be surprised how delicious this concoction is, despite the yukky sounding mix of ingredients that include ground seeds and herbs.

Kudos to those who are super-focused, obsessed even, with measurements and metrics. Not my jam, maybe to my detriment, but restrictive codes stymie me. The need to keep track of steps or miles for charting progress would stop me from stepping outside to soak up the beauty and nature of my surroundings. A quick, unmeasured walk feeds my soul as well as my bones.

Numbers and charts may not jive with the grand scheme, big picture view, but while learning the craft of any artistic endeavor, details do matter.

I’m enrolled in a beginner wheel pottery class. I’ve previously enjoyed hand-built pottery, but throwing is a different set of skills, of which I may be lacking. The first class was a mess of flinging wet clay. It was hard to ignore the nagging desire to clean up while keeping track of details to keep in mind. Have all air bubbles been eliminated? Is the clay centered on the wheel? Does the thickness of the vessel wall vary or bulge? Frustration built as I attempted to make a bowl until our instructor suggested that I tell the clay what to do. I put my analytical left brain on snooze and engaged with the feeling sense of my right brain.

The clay became a partner in the creative act, an extension of my body, rather than a substance to be contained and constrained. My hope is to one day soon internalize the necessary details so as not to impede that elusive state of flow.

I’ve been reading about a lamasery in Tibet and their practices that inform their world and their worldview. What would it be like to live in one stripped-down spot for your whole long life? Boring is the first word to come to mind. Peaceful is the next. No messy details to clutter their lives as they spend their days praying, meditating and preparing simple meals of brown bread or fresh fruit. Are they blissfully unaware of the destruction of the broader world? Or do they understand those are details to be released in their quest for an inner peace that can’t be rattled by the news of the day? In the grand scheme, do those details matter?

What details are bogging you down on your progress toward a goal? What would happen if you set them aside and enjoyed the whole picture of the journey? Details may be the steppingstones on the path of life, but the beauty to be gained is found in the grand sky above.

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For those of you following the menacing misfortunes of Mandy Watkins, protagonist of my first novel THE ART COLONY, Friday’s post (chapters 16 - 18) will find her spending another night on the street when she clumsily locks herself out of the gallery/studio/home, but things look up when she is propositioned for a clandestine commission on the side. Subscribers to this site receive email notices of new chapters dropped and can access them on the app.