Last week, I went to a coffee meeting with a documentary filmmaker. She's making a film that might maybe possibly intersect in some small way with a play I directed and co-wrote in 2008. I actually heard that someone was making a film about a subject similar to hers a few years ago. Since it had been a while, I figured this must be a different one.
Nope. The filmmaker told me and my theatre-making partner in the meeting that she's been working on this thing for four years. And her freelance day job business has picked up a lot, so she's doing what she can on the film in the time she has. Which means she doesn't know when it'll be finished. She's just moving forward.
I was psyched. Because this woman is clearly strongly committed to her project. And she was kind and smart and interesting. I didn't think, "Four years! And you call yourself an artist! Ha!" Kind of the opposite, actually.
And that was the day after my husband and I officially kicked off being on a real, live budget, which is something we've been working toward and intending on and talking about for YEARS now. We did not look at each other over breakfast and say, "We are some pathetic excuses for adults to have taken so damn long to get this done."
No way. We felt like celebrating. "We did it. Holy crap. This is awesome." We were happy we finally got there. Even if it was slow.
And THEN I had this excellent call with my smart, smart, smart So Many Things client, and she was talking about the organization she leads when she said something like this, "We had this overnight success on our hands--and by overnight I mean after more than a decade of building it, of course."
Yes. It's okay for making new things to take time.
I'm looking forward to sharing the good stuff and the not-so-good stuff about my slow project process over the next few posts, like I promised way back here.
Because maybe your life is right for a few slow projects right now, too.
And if it is, maybe you'd like to know there's another turtle crawling along beside you over here.