SHAUMBRA HEARTBEAT
THE UNFINISHED LIFE
By Jean Tinder
Are we there yet?
I really like ticking things off a to-do list. Of course, there’s the obvious benefit of having all the random details of life written down, so my ever-juggling brain doesn’t drop anything important. But there’s also that little surge of satisfaction when I can say, “There, that’s done!” And for a moment, I feel just a little lighter.
It’s a small “high” we spend a lot of time hunting for…
When I finish this task, I’ll feel better.
When I get through this week, life will calm down.
Once I solve this problem or finish that project, everything will be okay.
When I’m a realized Master, life will finally be easy.
The thing is, we’re never really done. Yes, I feel momentarily better when a project is concluded, but there’s always something else to take its place. For example, I’ve been updating my house for years, and while it’s definitely a lot better, there’s always another thing that needs fixing, renewing, repairing, or replacing. That elusive feeling of completion keeps dangling just out of reach.
The same seems to be true of my inner journey. There have been countless moments of realization, some of them profound and life changing. The perception of love that I wrote about last month felt particularly significant. But my life didn’t settle into a permanent feeling of completeness, and I still wake up every morning with human stuff to deal with. There’s always another day to live, another idea to explore, another feeling to feel, another tweak in the body, another human drama to gawk at (hopefully from the sidelines).
So, when do I really get to feel “done”?
Well, maybe never. In fact, maybe it’s not completion I’m seeking, but something a little… squishier. Harder to define. More subjective. Maybe what I really want is the security of knowing what something means, or the comfort of a clear path before and behind me, or the solid feeling of certainty. Because “unfinished” feels a lot like “unknown,” and that feels… unstable.
We want to know what’s going to happen to the world (that’s why we want to hear more from Jami). We want to be able to depend on our human selves (young bodies were so much more reliable!). We want to know if love will last, what tomorrow will bring, if that old wound will ever stop hurting, and whether we’re getting it right. Basically, we want the reassurance of the last page while we’re still in chapter seven… in a book whose author never stops writing.
But life has been showing me something about the beauty of being unfinished. Not cut short or incomplete. Unfinished.
I’ve always been creative, finding great joy in crafting all sorts of things, but usually with three-dimensional materials. Pottery, stained glass, beads, fiber, wood, and of course, lots of house projects. But two-dimensional stuff like drawing and painting always felt beyond me. The ongoing joke is that I can draw a stick figure as well as an accomplished six-year-old.
But a few weeks ago, out of nowhere, I started feeling an itch to paint. As in lots of colors, not a nice plain wall.
Wait… paint? Seriously? Me?
Well, why not!
I gathered up some old craft paints, bought a few small canvases, and started playing. A few results were interesting, some were hideous, but I was having fun.
Then, at a local neighborhood art event, I happened to meet a master oil painter. Something about him caught my interest, so I signed up for his mailing list. Am I crazy? Who wants MORE email these days! But something had connected. I just didn’t yet know what.
A few days later I received a message announcing a new book he’d written, and once again something tugged. I ordered it and began reading. Oh my… this guy speaks my language! He writes about painting not simply as a way of producing an image, but as a process of discovery, awareness, and deep presence. He describes it as an expression of consciousness, as Beingness discovering itself, and even explains how one’s essence can be imbued into a painting.
Then came the announcement of an upcoming class called “Abstraction as Discovery.” It was practically shouting my name.
Now, I have never been interested in oil painting. The stuff itself is messy, intimidating, hard to clean up, and apparently takes forever to dry. I didn’t know the first thing about any of it, and the materials list alone was enough to make my head spin. And yet, suddenly there I was, signing up for an eight-week oil painting class and spending a small fortune on supplies.
WTF was I doing?
Well, as of this writing, I have survived the first three-hour class. We’ll be working on the same canvas for all eight weeks, and I have absolutely no idea what it’s going to become. I’ve already made a spectacular mess, and after those first three hours, my brain was so scrambled I could hardly function.
But also, something important is happening.
I’ve tended to approach creative expression – and most of life itself – from the outside in. Follow the instructions, do things the right way, and judge the result according to how well I succeeded or failed. Take on a project, try to meet expectations, and don’t piss anybody off in the process. Express myself, sure, but don’t get too far out there, and be keep it agreeable.
But what if creation – what if living itself – isn’t about measuring up to something outside me?
What if it’s about discovering what is within me and allowing it to become visible?
That’s the shift I’m beginning to feel. Not from the outside in, but from inside out.
And when creation comes from within, how could it ever be finished?
Tobias often told the story about an artist who creates a beautiful painting and then dives in to experience that creation. I always loved that metaphor, but now that I’m standing in front of an actual canvas, paintbrush in hand, I’m starting to feel it in a totally new way. I’m not just looking at the painting or trying to match some other image. In fact, I have no idea what it’s going to become. I am inside the experience of creating it.
I am inside the unfolding of my life, with no idea what it will become.
I’m still holding the brushes. Creation is still happening. The book is still being written, and I am the author of every word, the wielder of every color. None of it has to make sense. It’s an ongoing discovery of myself.
When I’m trying to live up to an external standard, there’s always something to measure against. Is this right? Is that wrong? Does it look the way it’s supposed to? Have I done enough? Am I finished yet?
But when I create from the inside out, I am free. There’s no way to know how it will turn out, because I’m discovering it as I go. Every brushstroke changes what’s possible next, and there’s no particular result to aim for.
It’s exhilarating, uncomfortable, and remarkably disorienting.
How much time do we spend trying to match an image of what we think life should be? We want to have a good relationship, a healthy body, a finished project, a perfect painting, and finally become a realized Master. But what if there’s nothing to match? What if the point is simply to allow what’s within us to keep becoming visible?
What if life is never complete?
Perhaps what we’re really seeking is the wholeness that’s inherent in every moment.
Beneath all our attempts to finish, fix, understand, and resolve things, perhaps it’s not completion we want, but the felt realization that nothing is missing. That everything is okay, even when we don’t know what happens next.
An acorn is whole. An oak tree is whole. But neither is finished becoming.
Realization doesn’t mean we’re finally finished with life, but that we can experience our wholeness while life continues to unfold. I can feel whole while still learning something new, while making ridiculous mistakes, while my body changes, while the world does whatever it’s doing, while creating something I don’t yet understand.
And that wholeness remains, even when feeling things I can’t explain. Even when they hurt.
Recently, I learned of the passing of someone whose presence in the world has touched me deeply. Although I never knew Sir Patrick Stewart personally, the news brought an astonishing wave of grief. And yet, the grief isn’t separate from the love. It’s all mixed in together – sadness, tenderness, gratitude, wonder, and an overwhelming appreciation for the richness he brought to being human.
Part of me wants to understand why I’m feeling so much, and when it will all settle down and be over. But another part of me knows there’s nothing to figure out. Nothing to fix. Nothing to finish. Just a lot to feel right now. Because, after all, we are here to experience everything deeply, not to tidy it all up, check it off the list, and move on.
And there, I believe, is the gift of allowing life to remain unfinished. I don’t have to figure out what every experience means, understand every feeling that passes through, anticipate every turn in the road, or even know where the road is going. I don’t have to know what the painting will look like when the class is over. In fact, the experience itself will continue.
Perhaps the desire to be finished is actually a way of resisting the messy, sometimes confusing experience of just being alive. When I’m always waiting for everything to finally be resolved – in the world or in my life – I miss the creation that’s happening right now.
So, I’m starting to make friends with the feeling of “unfinished,” even though it’s a bit uncomfortable. It isn’t a problem to solve or a thing to check off a list. It’s the natural state of creation. And wholeness isn’t the reward waiting at the end of the journey; it’s been here all along.
How do we live and enjoy an unfinished life without constantly trying to resolve it? How do we stay deeply present with every bit of it?
Here’s what I whisper to myself:
Feel what you’re feeling.
Be where you are.
Breathe it all in.
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Thank you Jean, I agree with you totally❣️ Jutta
Dear Jean, Thank you so much for your inspiring article. It touched me. And: How boring life would be if things are all done and finished 😉
I’m curious to see how your painting will evolve during the art lessons. Enjoy the journey!
A big thanks also to you and the entire “New Sentience Magazine” team for this inspiring edition.
Dear Jean, indeed. Thank you because your article inspired me and let me feel into the different sayings like: I Exist or I Am and To Life, forever and ever. In my understanding your words fit perfectly to these sayings. What if we are already whole no matter how we perceive something we pursue? Isn‘t I Am this now exactly the perceived expression of our I Am right now in this moment? And if the I Am is already whole right now because it already has inherent within all things as a Potential then it’s indeed whole already as we are. It just seems as if we are not because of the ever unfolding of becoming whatever we choose to be in our life. Just to gain wisdom and to realize: I Exist. I Am that I Am. I Know that I Know. I Allow.
Iloved it, Jean! So much synchronicity with my life this moment! A big hug!😍😍
Super.
I am an artist by core and heart and one thing I realized early was that a painting is finished not when it is finished by when I say it is finished.
Yes! This! Fellow painter here and I too learned early on that there’s never a moment that the painting is finished, there is only a moment when you declare it finished, or at least, finished for now 😉
your sharing rings as beautiful natural unfolding… and sweet freedom, thank you!
Thank you Jean, for your heart warming and uplifting article. This writing makes me recognize and feel our humanness deeply, with all its beauty and breathtaking stumbles while still going strong.
Another beautiful and illuminating article, dear Jean! Thank you ❤️