I worked this weekend on the program for the Harvard Design School event next week—Art in the Life of the City: London Stories. It’s going to be such a great event with speakers and films informing us of wild public art projects like The Sultan’s Elephant, the Crack in the Tate Modern floor and Waste Man—a forty foot sculptural man made of discarded furniture that was later burned. These are great dramatic art pieces—experiences so vivid that they change our relationship with the world. Just to know the joy of seeing The Sultan’s Elephant stroll down a London street, to stand watching with thousands of other people, n one knowing where it came from or what it was about—just magic.

So I was designing the program. On one side is an enormous photo of The Sultan’s Elephant and on the other the program, several other images and the list of speakers with their bios. Many of the speakers are women—that’s good news, and many of these women have amazing jobs—there’s the chief curator of the Tate Modern, the producer of The Sultan’s Elephant, the director of the Royal Society of Art, a research fellow and sculptor at an art college. These women are on boards of Everything, are consultants of Almost Everything. And they’re doing incredible things—trying to make urban space more hospitable and working to make cities greener. Their accomplishments were so lengthy that I almost ran out of space for them on the program.

Reading their bios I couldn’t help reflect on my own. I couldn’t help reflect how much more I’d like to do with my life to effect positive change in the world, in what new ways I’d like to engage with the world. It made me think about my own path and theirs. It’s not that I ever aspired to be a curator or a producer—those are different skills than what I have, more in the thinking domain than the feeling one which is mine. I’m better suited as an artist, as a writer, but still I’ve not achieved what these women have, not even by half. This is not to diminish what I have achieved—I’m just thinking this through here.

I started my career at The National Film Board of Canada and I was just twenty-four when I was asked if I would accept a job as a producer. The difference between me and these highly accomplished women is that I said thank you so much but I think not. I see myself as a writer, I said, as a creator rather than a producer. I was absolutely clear about this. A bit hot-headed but clear! I’ve wondered occasionally if I didn’t made a mistake. My philosophy now is to say yes to yes. But, then, I thought I might lose what felt so urgent and important—the chance to see where art would take me.

I was very ambitious as a young woman—there were so many things I wanted to do. But, at the same time, I was my parents’ daughter—I loved fun. I loved people and never worked late as some of my co-workers did who went on to have distinguished careers in film. No, I was out on the town. I didn’t get home until midnight half the time and when I got to work in the morning (always on time by the way) I couldn’t wait to compare notes with other, usually older, co-workers who’d given dinner parties the night before or been to the theater. I’d usually been in a club listening to the blues or out to dinner at a restaurant with a friend or at the movies.

Then, one day, I won’t tell the whole story now, I quit that great job to go freelance. I saw I was not a animation filmmaker after all. I hadn’t the interest in the long labor it took to bring a film to completion. I loved the writing and the design—that was enough for me. I had no real plan just an incredibly clear vision—I must jump ship and move on. Not long after I married a blues musician, one of Muddy Waters’ band members, and moved to Boston. So, there you go—the chance at another kind of life was done then, for sure. For sure!

When I was reading the biographies of those women I was getting a twinge of something like envy. How fun would it be to work on The Sultan’s Elephant—to create that kind of magic! But my friend Sally, who is working to bring these people over here from London, said that she called over to London one evening at 8 pm their time and they were still in the office. Let’s put it this way—at 8 pm I’m usually at the dinner table with a glass of the red having a chat with Dear A. Last night both kids stopped in, though not at the same time, so I was at the table until 9 pm then we watched the last episode of the new Sense and Sensibility. Today I’m back to the revision on my book which nears completion. And tomorrow I drive through beautiful Vermont to Montreal to visit with my dear mother for a few days. Then, when I come back, I will meet with my wondrous drawing class—we’ll explore abstraction which one of our members requested and will be a great exploration.

I have a very, very sweet and amazing life though not a public one. I no longer worry about money because I know how to make it. I love my family and my friends. And, this is so fine—wonderful new people are entering my life. They are not high-powered producers or curators. They are artists of various sorts, musicians and yoga teachers. They have time for coffee or a visit to a museum or dinner.

I’m so glad I wrote this all out. I’m so glad I see that all that time ago when I was surely a mixed-up young woman I still had some sense. I knew I didn’t need to explore that important job, that my journey was more of an inward one and a family one. Every day now I sit down and write. I do design work too and art but the thing I wanted to do when I was twenty-four is what I’m doing now and have done for the last few years when time finally opened up for me. There’s no guarantee that what I write will find its way into the world and I do it anyway. And I’m going to hold my head high because simply doing it, simply working very hard on something you truly feel called to do and doing it with love—that’s enough. The rest is not up to me.

It does make me think though that every once in a while we need to sit down and just appreciate ourselves. I can still get that twinge where I think it’s the big job that is most fabulous but it’s only for the person who wants it. Tonight, I’m going to sit at my kitchen table with my Dear A again—just chatting and counting my blessings.  The envy is just the sneaky old ego anyway, silly thing that it is.