call this my statue

You can't test courage cautiously. -- Annie Dillard

Recently I had the chance to talk with a complete stranger about my life: this funny, living-at-home, juggling three novels-in-progress, knitaholic, uncertain, artistic life of mine.

He looked very sensible, and he was at least twice my age, so I was braced for a bit of a sneer, or at least a raised eyebrow. I mean, aren't silly, dream-chasing kids like me the bane of society?

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But he was surprisingly--and refreshingly--unfazed and encouraging about this thing I do with my days.

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You're lucky with your parents, he said.

Yes, I answered emphatically. Yes, I am.

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Then he told me about his friend, a brain surgeon, who has two daughters who want to be actresses in NYC. The surgeon has agreed to support his daughters' pursuit of their dreams for ten years. Ten years to go for it, to risk everything, to learn what they need to know.

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Ten years!! I was astonished.

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So many people say "try it for a year," I said. That's how long I thought it would take for me to get started. (This makes me laugh now, and laugh hard. Really hard.)

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Nope, he answered. It takes a lot longer. It takes a long time to go after a dream like that.

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So, now I want to put up a few statues. To my own incredibly understanding parents, for all their faith and confidence in me. To this brain surgeon, giving his daughters the support they need to learn their craft. And to other people like them... heck, even to my encouraging conversation partner that night.

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People who look at crazy dreams and understand they take time to chase. Time to build.

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This is a rare, rare attitude. I once had a woman say to my face (and in front of her writer daughter) that if this daughter ever decided to pursue writing full time, she'd turn her out of the house.

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I wish I could say that I had some wonderful thing to say in that girl's defense, or some gentle and wise comment for the mother... but I stood absolutely frozen.

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Where do you even start, when someone believes that the pursuit of art is meaningless? I don't know, so I'll start in the other direction: I'll start by recognizing the people who believe, the people who support, the people who let possibilities grow into something bigger.

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So, thank you, my fantastic parents. Thank you, oh encouraging stranger.

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And wise and generous brain surgeon, I am amazed by what you're doing for your girls. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

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(Psst. By the way, since you're a brain surgeon anyway, is there a way you can use your talents to further this cause? Something you can tweak in each brain to spread this attitude far and wide? Could everyone waking from your procedures desire to nurture the artistic talent around them? Would that be ethical, hmm? Just a thought...)