Twice this week, I changed my plans because I wanted to paint. Both times, I made the same choice: go where the love is.
The first time, Gary had plans and asked if I wanted to come along. Normally, I would have. I love being with him. He is most certainly where the love is.
But he didn’t need me there. He would be happily occupied with something he enjoys, while I could already feel myself fidgeting at the thought of joining him. My heart was somewhere else. I wanted to make marks. I wanted paint on my hands.
So I told him. He smiled and told me to go to the studio and enjoy myself. His love sent me toward something else I love. He followed his joy. I followed mine.
Delight instead of fidget.
Go Where the Love Is
The next day, it happened again. I had necessary things to do, but nothing with a tight timeline. What I really wanted was to return to the two paintings I’d begun.
Painting isn’t something I can easily squeeze into twenty minutes. I can write almost anywhere or pick up a pencil without much ceremony. Paint is messier. I have to pull out materials, make space, wash brushes, and put everything away again. It requires a little territory in my day, which makes it easy to postpone.
The things we love don’t always demand our attention. A canvas doesn’t complain when we don’t show up. Joy doesn’t send an overdue notice.
What we love can wait. Too often we let it.
That afternoon, I decided the other things could wait instead. I gave myself a couple of hours and went where the love was. Then I cleaned up the mess I’d loved making and did the things I’d postponed with the energy painting had given me. More attention, more joy.
Nothing had gone undone. I’d simply changed the order.
Love doesn’t always ask us to rearrange our lives. Sometimes it asks us to rearrange an afternoon.
What Restores Us
The time I devote to what makes me feel alive doesn’t disappear. It returns as energy.
I used to think about those hours differently. Two hours painting meant two hours not doing something else. But that equation doesn’t account for how I emerge from the studio. I emerge full, with more to give.
I also know the other version. When I pour myself out without replenishing what I’ve spent, eventually I run dry. And apparently, so does my sunny disposition. Let’s just say I’m not spreading delight throughout the land. I get bitchy. There. I said it.
What restores us isn’t necessarily rest. Painting certainly isn’t. It takes effort, attention, movement, and concentration. Yet I come away restored.
What sends you back into your life with more of you available for it?
A lot can be asked of us, often by people and responsibilities we love. We can give ourselves willingly and still become depleted. Loving where our energy goes doesn’t mean we have an endless supply of it. We need the things that restore us, too.
Going where the love is doesn’t mean choosing one love over another. It means recognizing which love might restore us in that moment—and giving ourselves more time there.
This week, I went toward paint. A couple of hours later, I returned to the other things I love with more energy, more attention, more delight.
The joy I found didn’t stay there. It came with me.