Phinishing
First of all, thanks to all y’all who have reported that you are actually reading this blog. Grandpa is also grateful that I don’t nag her to read it every day now that she’s not the only reader. It makes me feel more connected to you, and it also helps me think of things to write about.
Tonight the topic is finishing, and it might not be very exciting but it’s on my mind, so that’s what you get.
Finishing my doctorate was one of the most daunting achievements of my life. By the end, I knew it was going to take every ounce of strength I had–every brain cell, every extra calorie, and all of my sanity. I think everyone reading this knows well what the experience put me through. There were moments when I was sure I couldn’t do it. I remember one time in particular when I was freaking out, bawling, and my mom reminded me that I could stop at any time and do something else; that no one was going to think less of me if I quit. (How great is Chloe?) But by the end I just had to finish for the sake of finishing. (See “Quitting.”) I didn’t care if the dissertation sucked or if I never set foot in a university again. Later I was surprised when members of my grad school cohort said I had a “Type A” personality for finishing before them, because in my mind (and in reality) I was at least a year late getting through it, and only by the, uh, hair of my chin.
So after all that reading, all the papers, the torturous comprehensive exams, the proposal, the poverty, the goddamn endless double-drafted dissertation, the lost weekends, and the defense, I was as relieved as if I’d climed Everest, and I might as well have. For that reason, my Ph.D. graduation was the first graduation ceremony I attended since high school; it really meant something to me. I had bloody FINISHED.
Just about six years, and many existential rollercoasters later, I am in a home that I own, in a university job that I enjoy, in a town that I love, in a network of people I adore…and occasionally unnerved by all the unfinished things in my world.
The thing is, I’m not sure how much of a finisher I am, deep down. I’m not the kind of person who is sufficiently compelled to–and gets pleasure from–tying up all the loose ends and keeping everything neat, tidy, and put away. And I’m open to advice from you guys, because I know a lot of you, especially Bonnie, Dubber, Linda, Kris, Jess, and Jen, are really good finishers. So help Nanny out here.
Off the top of my head, I can think of the following unfinished things in my life (and this list does not even touch on the existential ones). Some of these items have been on my list for years:
Quilt for the new Wadsworth
Butterfly credit card collage
Late student paper(s)
Lesbian manifesto book project
Watercolor painting
Camera to send for repair
File pile on the printer
Edited volume chapter edits
Updated website for The Write Doctors
Bicycle repairs
Now, I know it’s not world-ending if these things don’t get done soon or ever. But what’s been bugging me is that I start them, or I know I want to do them, and I have every intention of following through, but somewhere along the line the urge to deal is just not strong enough. Is it wherewithal? energy? lack of interest? What the hell is the problem? I mean, why if it bugs me am I sitting here writing this weblog rather than getting off my bum and finishing?
I think it has something to do with being a person who thrives more on the vision end of things than on the detail dimension. I loved imagining making the butterfly collage out of my cut up credit cards as a symbol of moving to a consumer debt-free life. I even loved getting it started. But cutting up the cards is kind of hard, and pasting the tiny pieces in is a pain in the butt, and even though it looks like it could turn out pretty well, I’m not finding the motivation to hang in there, so it’s just sitting on my dining room table cluttering space. The Lesbian Relationshp Manifesto book was a great idea, but I got stuck around chapter four trying to figure out positive solutions, and then I needed to work on The Book again, so it went on the back burner. I was on a roll with the quilt last year until the sewing machine needle broke. Et cetera. And to send the camera out for repair, I have to go to the post office–you know how annoying that is.
I could give you some valid excuses, like the fact that every time I settle into a creative project I start to feel guilty because, believe it or not, I still need to get that monster of a first academic book finally reframed, revised, and under contract. And that is easly the most daunting project of all. But who cares about the reasons. Funny, though, that I didn’t think to put the book (entitled, Ambivalent Miracles, by the way) on the list above.
What haunts me is thinking all these are signs that I’ll one day become That Lady. You know, the lady your family visited when you were a kid, the spinster or the auntie whose house was overflowing with trinkets and unfinished projects–a tiny handmade dollhouse she hadn’t finished painting, Christmas ornaments made out of sea shells, crochet projects, scrapbooks, a translation of The Odyssey into pig Latin. She’s got decades worth of TV Guides stacked next to her couch and thirteen books under the bed. She keeps piles of scrap cloth in a giant basket for the quilt she’s never going to make. You pull open one of her kitchen drawers and bundles of dry rubber bands tumble out. The lemon drops in her glass cannister came out of the candy factory in 1953 (but they still taste kind of good). That quirky, old, puttery, not-really-lonely lady surrounded by stuff. Unfinished stuff.
I mean, there are worse things than ending up like the Lady. There’s depression and lack of ambition and amputation. There’s schizophrenia, and hating your job, and veganism. I personally can’t imagine life without dairy. And I can also see that having unfinished projects around is also a sign of faith in the future and things going on. Maybe if I finished everything all the time I’d get stuck in worse bouts of inertia than I already do. Maybe the process of starting is what keeps me interested and alive.
But it’d also be nice to be the kind of person (Jen) that actually unpacks those last three boxes marked “miscellaneous” and always has all her files put away. I’d like to get better at finishing stuff. I’m open to suggestions.
