When Big Plans Fall Apart, Maybe for the Better

I signed up for two months. I stayed for one.

I expected to be surrounded at the sanctuary by mostly scientists and biology grad students. I found myself connecting with (world renowned!) artists and musicians touring the globe.

I came to learn about the elephants. I left with a bank of newfound knowledge and clearer reflection of myself—whether I liked the image or not.

We think up, dream up, then do everything in our power to make stuff go according to how we see it, just like how I went in with an idea of what would happen during this latest global adventure. It mostly unfolded far from how I imagined. What's that phrase again? The Universe gazes at our best laid plans, then laughs?

Sounds about right.

Oh, also? One of the last things I expected to encounter in the middle of the Thai forest was a giant blue elephant head. 

One day, the fierce auntie of the herd sprung from peaceful graze to sudden commotion. Thwapping her trunk against the ground in agitation then throwing out a literal “mom arm” to protect her great nephew by her side. All while staring us visitors down from several yards away. How DARE she be mistaken for anything less than determined and protective. Girl knew what she wanted. And we were to respect that by giving her ample space.

Right there, clutching a nimble branch to prevent my rump from sliding down a dry dirt hill into potential lethal territory, I knew: THAT was the face, the energy I was meant to capture and preserve. First in pencil, then chalk, and finally stroked in blue paint. 

Fierce auntie on the right, Junior in the center

Part of my commitment to myself right now is to keep creating, keep moving, keep typing, keep painting, keep making to help prevent myself from sliding further down the slope into a terrifying abyss of unknowns. Otherwise known as a pit of hot, bubbling anxiety. 

On the plane ride home from Thailand, one of my faves, Martha Beck, cooed  directly into my ear (and maybe a bazillion others listening to the podcast) about tapping into the power of creativity to squash anxiety. (It prompted me to run out and buy a copy of her new book Beyond Anxiety, and I’m loving it.) So here I am, computer propped on a yoga block post yoga-for-anxiety-flow (also highly recommend Rebecca Niziol’s Yoga for Tough Times movement series), doing what I said I’d do: write. Less because “this art is a form of resistance, dammit!” (I do believe that) but more to keep myself feeling like . . . myself.

That self went into the sanctuary willing to rough it, planning for that roughness to not be so bad. I would come out a triumphant warrior on the other side, having sacrificed a slew of creature comforts for a good cause while joyfully wiping dirt-stained snot from my nose.

The truth? I do not like roughing it very much. 

A few days is exciting. A few weeks? Not so thrilling for this gal. I now have a deeper appreciation for nice things like insulated walls.

But back to this elephant. The blue one. 

She didn’t exist when I drummed up the initial plan of studying elephants in their natural environment. Nope, I thought I’d volunteer my skills by churning out a big ole fundraising plan, perhaps start a wickedly clever awareness campaign. All stuff I’m frankly rather good at. 

Also stuff that felt exhausting when I considered doing it free of charge.

During a four-day sabbatical away from the forest in a hotel room where I took very long steaming showers and slept for ten hours a night, what I actually asked myself was: Is that what I want?? 

Can’t I focus on not just what needs doing, but what I need to feel lit up, too? 

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember someone sharing this tidbit: any form of service we offer better be one we genuinely like doing. Because dishing up a heaping serving of resentment doesn't really help anyone at all, does it? Over-giving and burnout never turned out well for me, from what I recall. 

What I wanted to do was paint. To play. To feel, for once, far less serious in an already wildly serious time filled with complex problems and issues and terrifying things that if I start to teeter any further on the edge of, this whole blog post risks becoming about. 

There on that very fluffy nice hotel bed, an idea came. What if my art could also be a solution? A beautiful mural combined with a call to action, married with a quick QR code linked to the sanctuary’s fundraising site to bring it home.  Bing! Art for a purpose. 

So that’s what I did. It’s one very small part that will never fix the world. But, at least, might help provide a creature a better life. And bonus: the process was wildly fun for me.

starting lines of a fierce auntie

chalk lines act as a guide for the paint

transferring the design

Was it coincidence that two other visual artists turned fellow interns arrived primed with support and encouragement and ideas and techniques the exact week I chose to whip out the paintbrushes? Pure irony that the sanctuary had about fifteen brand spanking new jars of unopened acrylic hues (my medium!)? Or that a functional projector fit for transferring an image from paper to wall in perfect scale just happened to be lying around? 

I think not. Instead, I think the right people and tools and vehicles show up when we make a decision that feels good—or as Martha says, like freedom—in our bodies. 

Maybe, if we can become calm enough to clear a little space in our heads to let ideas flow, we prime a palette to create solutions born from actual wants instead of shoulds. (Pretty sure elephants don't do shi* because they feel like they should.)

All the plans might whisk out the window. Which honestly kinda seems like the way these days. But I’m not the only one with experience wading in that department, am I?

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. To keep following my journey, join my email list.