I woke up with an air of excitment today. My favourite gardening event, Seedy Saturday is this weekend and I've been working in a manic flurry to complete my long and ambitious list of preparations. I've thoroughly enjoyed working with my hands this last week. The last few months have been caught up in constant cerebral-ness, sitting at the computer pulling up the wit, and standing in front of groups of people working to entertain and educate. It's been so nice to use a different part of my brain for an extended period of time. I like the solitude and the sense of accomplishment as I hold each new object or item in my hand. I feel confident in the skills I have acquired and a sense of ease in spreading ink across a screen, cutting paper with a knife, or manipulating cloth through a machine.
I like to make. I have always been a producer. I woke up at 4 am this morning and could not get back to sleep pondering whether or not there was ever a time when I wasn't making something. I can't not make things. There are parts of my brain that would die without the exercise. What I worry about is how production and identity intersect. I think it's important to separate our identities from money and even sometimes production. I am a producer but that's not the sum of my value as a human being. It's tricky because people like me dream about a day when we can focus all of our time on making. But making as a job and making because you can't not is rife with contradictions and struggles. And when you start to associate all of these with identity it can get really hairy.
So the question is, Who am I outside of all of this? I will admit that I haven't figured it out yet because I still associate my identity too closely with what I produce. And sometimes, at a cost to my value as a person, how much I am paid for it.