Not a Book Deal Announcement

On Ambition, Privilege, & Rhythm Sticks

Jul 14, 2023

Dear Friends,

For many years, I’ve considered myself to be an un-ambitious person. In school, I puzzled my writing teachers by creating good work and then posting it on the internet rather than submitting it to literary journals. I wasn’t afraid to fail so much as I was already moving on to the next writing project.

In my career, a C-suite job at the Poetry Factory has never materialized, so I’ve reinvented myself half a dozen times (college professor, technical writer, lit journal editor, embassy community liaison coordinator, art therapy practice manager!). I’ve mostly chosen jobs where I can stay behind the scenes and write stuff.

I suppose peak writer ambition would be to have a book on the NY Times bestseller list, but that feels, as the youths say, cringe.

Would I like for that to happen someday? Sure, I mean, being famous enough to have my own Wikipedia page would be cool (and stressful AF?). But for a large part of my life, “achieving my full potential” has been set aside for “making things work right now.”

This has been especially true of the last eight years. I clipped my shoes into the pedals of my husband’s ambition when he became a Foreign Service officer, holding on as the State Department steered us to one unfamiliar country after another.

In 2020, my ambition had another identity crisis as I took a step back from full-time work in order to take care of my child through the pandemic. I’ve been writing this newsletter and blogs and Instagram captions (and lots of emails to our wonderful clients), but when people ask me when my book is coming out, I freeze.

“Maybe someday!”

“Maybe when Nora is in kindergarten??”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just not that ambitious.”

I’m “Alexandria Art Therapy” for just a few hours a day. And for the other 20, I’m “Stay at Home Mom,” an identity that includes assumptions, judgments, and fetching so many snacks. (So many.)

I’ve felt guilty, these last several years, about my lack of ambition. I’ve watched others get promotions, start businesses, go back to school, and make progress.

But having ambition, it turns out, is a privilege.

I always come back to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs:

During the most stressful periods of my life (caring for a dying parent, caring for a newborn—ah, the parallels of endings and beginnings), I was in the red zone. Eating and sleeping, the most basic things, were hard to grasp.

Through the pandemic, most of us were hanging out in the orange, just trying to feel safe. Zoom happy hours might have seen us reaching up into yellow, but the whole world was a mix of fear, lost jobs, working from home, how do I pay the rent?, someone I know is sick, the world is ending.

Look on the pyramid. You see where self-actualization is, the home of ambition? Wayyyy up there in the blue.

It makes sense, then, that I haven’t felt ambitious in years.

So it surprised me, in conversations with others, when I’ve described myself as unambitious, and friends pushed back.

“I don’t see you that way,” they’d say.

I began to wonder—are we working from the same definition?

I enjoyed reading Anne Helen Petersen’s interview with Rainesford Stauffer about ambition, in which she says that “ambition” should not just apply to the traditional sense of capitalist upward mobility, but should also label the striving we do for relationships, community, and care.

Was it ambitious to bring a child into this world? Maybe, yes.

Was it ambitious to create a home during a pandemic? Okay…

Was it ambitious to prioritize community (read: mom friends) over other pursuits?

Maybe we’ve been programmed to think of “ambition” as part of hustle culture instead of part of living a fulfilling life on our own terms.

Ambition, to many of us, means having something to say when strangers at a party ask “so what do you do?” or “what’s new in your life?”

My husband and I have been watching the Apple TV show Shrinking (because Harrison Ford), and there’s this great scene where two of the characters bemoan attending a party.

SEAN: Do you think anyone would care if I skipped this party tonight?
ALICE: What’s your deal?
SEAN: My deal is old people asking me what I do for a living.
ALICE: So?
SEAN: (in yuppy voice) Well yes, I’m currently unemployed, living in my therapist’s pool house because my violent outbursts put me in jail! But how are you, Alice? How was your summer?
ALICE: Oh! My mom suddenly died, so I spent it scream-crying.
SEAN: Sounds very fun. We went to Maine!

It’s okay to be in that kind of space. (Well, not the living-with-your-therapist part. Ethical problems abound in this show.)

It makes sense, if you’re hanging out on Maslow’s lower levels, that achieving your potential isn’t your biggest focus right now.

Lately I’ve been considering whether “ambition” ought to function more like the “unicorn space” in Fair Play, Eve Rodsky’s system of dividing up household tasks fairly. The “unicorn space” is the thing you’d do if you had uninterrupted time. It doesn’t include more work, a side hustle, or housework. The unicorn space is the active pursuit of something that brings you joy and a sense of fulfillment.

A few of my friends have implemented Fair Play in their households. One friend’s unicorn space is the planning and throwing of several dinner parties throughout the year. Another friend’s unicorn space is watching a favorite TV show and listening to a podcast about it. In her time devoted to this, she’s also written to the podcast hosts several times with her ideas and commentary, and been featured on the pod!

Maybe ambition should just be about making space. Maybe we need to separate it from the idea of our “full potential” and from what we think other people expect of us, or what society’s definition of the pinnacle of our talents might be.

In my head, ambition has always been a ladder, when maybe it should be a mirror. Maybe ambition should help us see ourselves as we are, right in this moment.

This summer, for the first time in years, I’m feeling ambitious again. The chaos in my world has settled enough for me to climb out of the red and orange zone and up through yellow and green to blue. But no, I’m not working on a novel.

I’m learning how to lead toddler music classes.

Though it will (hopefully!) eventually turn into a side hustle (don’t worry, I’m not leaving Alexandria Art Therapy!), going through the training for Music Together this summer has really been an exercise in being honest about who I am.

I’m a person who wants to build community. I’m a person who believes music is for everyone. I’m a person who loves playing with rhythm sticks and making up silly lyrics to songs about animals, apparently.

In some ways, this new thing feels like a pivot. It’s not within the writing or art world, or even therapy (though many music therapists use Music Together in their practices). I’ve taught classes before, but, you know, for college students. This new venture doesn’t require a security clearance, a literary agent, or even a music degree.

And yet, it feels like a pursuit that’s tied to the truest parts of who I am. Someone creative, a teacher, and yeah, maybe also a mom who spends a lot of the day as the Snack-Fetcher-in-Chief.

So. How are you? How’s your summer? Give yourself grace if you’re just trying to meet your basic needs right now. Not every year is a year for ambition—maybe you’re focused on love and belonging, or maybe you’re just trying to sleep right now. But if you are feeling ambitious, try holding up the mirror to your true self, not just the imagined version of your “full potential.”

What do you see when you really look?

Take good care,

Dot

News & Updates

What is EDPP Supervision? The El Duende process painting technique, originated by Abbe Miller, is a one-canvas painting that uses many layers built up over the supervision experience to enhance clinical learning. We offer supervision for Virginia LPCs and us-based Art therapists in qualifying states.

Individual Supervision: Laura offers individual supervision in person at our office in old town Alexandria, VA, or virtually. $110/Session. If your state has its own art therapy license (KY, MD, NJ, NY, TN, TX, AZ, LA, NH), hours will not count towards your credential. Please make sure you confirm exact requirements with your state board.

In-Person Supervision Group: Our in-person group meets monthly in Old Town and is open to therapists accruing hours for the Registered Art Therapist (ATR) credential and the Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) license in Virginia. $200/4 Hours.

Virtual Supervision Group: Our virtual group meets monthly and is open to US-based art therapists in qualifying states. $200/4 hours. If your state has its own art therapy license (KY, MD, NJ, TN, TX, AZ, LA, NH), hours will not count towards your credential. Please make sure you confirm exact requirements with your state board.

Get in touch! send us an email at info@alexandriaarttherapy.com or fill out our interest form.

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