Sometimes I’m incredulous to the amount of time the small stuff can take. You see, I was thrilled when my friend complimented me on the new print hanging on my wall, not only because it’s delightful but because of all of the effort it took to get it there. And it’s not like I even created it!
I did spend at least two hours shopping for it online. Its happy arrival was a little dampened by the fact it didn’t fit with the matte for a frame I already had. More time was spent online to find where to get a matte cut. A bus ride later, I was at the store to place my order. I returned to pick it up the following week. Only then did I get to frame the print. Next I had to measure and hang it. Finally it went up…after weeks had past and a bus pass, ahem, was lost. Whew.
All of sudden I found myself appraising the other photos and prints hanging on my walls with a new eye. Quite a few of them had taken similar endeavour. I started to question whether their pleasure was worth their effort.
A silly question to ask. Thankfully I stopped myself. But before I did, for a few seconds, I saw the proverbial iceberg which was all of the other small stuff I spend my time doing. I quickly saw that that stuff shouldn’t be quantified.
My mistake was in trying to, because then a line has to be drawn between meaningful and meaningless. Each of us spends our lives doing heaps and heaps of small stuff. The teeny, the small, whatever you want to call it, may end up the most precious. Sometimes you don’t know until afterwards.