Sculpting Choices

When I was in high school, we made heads out of clay in art class. Now, I was never that much of an artist. Up until that point, I had mostly made assorted rickety bowls out of clay. I did attempt a strawberry, but a lifelike head was, it seemed, far beyond my innate capabilities.
 
Being the hard-working, diligent person I was, however, I worked hard on my clay head. And while I don't remember quite what I created, I very distinctly remember the art teacher examining my work, complimenting me on my sculpting talent, and proceeding to change almost completely the thing I had created. The sculpture that I still have today may resemble a real person, but it is not any person I remember sculpting. It may have my name etched on its base, but it is strictly the work of the art teacher.
 
It's interesting how this experience from too many years ago to mention has stuck with me, even more than some of the experiences I've had developing my own work. Perhaps when we develop our own work, it becomes such a part of us, we rarely step back and remember the experience. It is the compromises in our own work that we remember. The clay head, even after the art teacher's adjustments, is far from a masterpiece. But it is a story that still resonates with me now. On that day, I allowed the art teacher to alter my choices, maybe because it didn't matter that much to me, maybe because she was the teacher. Who was I to question her?

Whichever the reason, I made a choice all those years ago that left me with an odd sculpture and a funny memory. And perhaps that is a good way to think about our choices. Not every choice can matter deeply (we'd be exhausted), so it is up to us to focus on and make the choices that do matter--that leave us with work or art or a life we can feel good about--and let go some of the ones that don't. Not every choice will leave us with a product we can be proud of--that's just how life is--but as long as we save our energy for the important choices, most of them should at least leave us with a good story. Or a memento--even if it's just an odd-looking clay head on the shelf.