What does it mean to overcommit? Why do artists seem to be more prone to it than others? And what can we do when we find ourselves in this kind of pickle?
While I write primarily for artists and art collectors, it really doesn't matter what walk of life you're in. Overcommitting is something nearly everyone does at some point. How we deal with it depends a lot on how we choose to view it.
Let's start with The Oxford Dictionary's definition: "to oblige oneself to do more than one is capable of," or "to allocate more resources to a purpose than can be provided." This often refers to risky financial behavior. But in the art world, it refers more often to offering one's labor, expertise, and materials without first considering what it might mean to us and to the people who could be affected by a hasty decision. I will admit to you, now that it's over, that I did exactly this about a month ago. I heard of a need and I opened my big mouth before I had time to think it through. It happens from time to time. Sometimes it costs me big and sometimes it actually works out ok. In this case, it worked out better than expected. More on this later.
But why do we overcommit? Could it be we just want people to like us? Doesn't everyone want that? The problem comes when we crave it so much that we want someone, or a group of someones, to see us as the solution to all their problems. We get to be their hero for a bit and it feels so good, that is until the warm fuzzy wears off, reality sets in, and we find ourselves in over our heads. Then what happens? Once the crisis is past us, we declare, "Never doin' THAT again!" And we don't for a while. Then the craving returns and we repeat the mistake we said we never would. That right there is the description of a chronic overcommitter. Is that really me? Yep! Guilty!
I could blame it on my parents. Dad could have made a killing selling the orchids he grew and that Mama crafted into corsages. He could have provided a much better lifestyle for his many offspring. Seemed like we were always and forever broke. Instead, he gave away most of the blooms to anyone who expressed awe at his ability to grow beautiful things. Let's just say we had the worst-dressed family but the best-dressed school bus drivers, teachers, nurses, grocers, and neighbors in Huron Township because of their generosity. If I could turn back time, I wouldn't change that for the world! Would I really trade the fierce pride I felt for them for store-bought clothes or a few more amenities? Absolutely not! Dad's chronic overcommitment might have cost our family some things, but the return was priceless.
Generosity and the desire to belong are what usually drive us to overcommit. These are not bad things unless we hurt others in the process. So what do we do when we find ourselves about to volunteer for something when deep down we know it's going to come with a price we may not be able or willing to pay? We humble ourselves, admit that we spoke in haste, and ask for help. And we keep our promise. That's what we do. No 'buts.' We can surely find a way to make it happen without ditching on the people who count on us. If we don't, pretty soon people learn not to trust. And integrity, friends, is crucial in every aspect of our lives. Sometimes we are simply not in a position to follow through. But most of the time, it's just a matter of having to get creative and work harder than usual to keep a promise. It may mean giving up a whole weekend or not eating out for a month or three. And hopefully, if we can't eliminate our impulsivity entirely, we can learn to practice cautious-overcommittment.
Earlier, I indicated that a recent event sparked this discussion. Well here it is:
In the January board meeting of the Artist's Society of Dearborn where I serve as recording secretary, we were discussing what to do for the February general meeting. Our group decided awhile back that we wanted to do more hands-on activities, giving members the opportunity to experience different art mediums and methods. We batted a few ideas around and then silence set in. I don't particularly like the sound of chirping crickets and I did honestly want to be of help, so I offered to teach the group how to paint floorcloths. In those moments of silence before I opened my big mouth, I partially worked out whether this was actually feasible in a two-hour general meeting. But the moment it was out the board immediately approved it, and it was then that I realized what I had committed to. Floorcloths are extremely labor-intensive and kind of expensive to prep before they can be painted. I would have to purchase about $100 worth of heavy Duck fabric and primer. Then it takes hours and hours to cut the fabric and staple it to heavy plywood so it would keep its shape when primed. Then the priming itself takes many hours, with two to three coats on each side. Then there was the time needed to compose a supply list and present the idea to the general membership. I knew the actual designing and decorative painting could be done within the meeting time. It was all the lead up that worried me.
And then there was the stress of not knowing how many people would show up for the event. We do have some non-painters in the group after all. Would they be intimidated? Did I mention that I hate the sound of crickets?
As it turned out, we funded at least most of the materials from our club treasury and decided to sell the artwork at an upcoming silent auction to raise funds for club activities. Sure, I spent a little out of pocket, but a recent upturn in sales meant I had a little wiggle room. Our president, Jena S. spent several hours one evening helping me prime. We had a somewhat small turn-out due to sickness, an impending winter storm, and possibly some disinterest in the floorcloth activity. But those who came, including some photographers who don't paint, had a wonderful time learning something new. The resulting artwork was really beautiful and demonstrated a wide variety of styles. Several of them even purchased some of the left-over primed fabric to paint a floorcloth for their own homes, thus allowing the club to recoup a sizeable portion of the funds spent. This small intimate group of brave souls really enjoyed themselves. Jokes flew as frequently as paint flecks and people shared their skills with each other.
When it was all over and I was home last night sipping tea in my cuddly socks and pjs, I reflected on whether or not this was really a case of overcommittment. After all, there was no real loss involved except that I will have to work a little harder to meet all my upcoming deadlines. Was it worth the emotional stress, hours of hard work, and possible rejection by the group? Depends on how you look at it. I have to remind myself that the fact that it turned out well does not mean it was a smart move. It could have gone very very differently. So the next time I feel the urge to raise my hand to volunteer for something this demanding, I will hopefully pause and count the cost before committing to it. I may still do it if it's a worthy endeavor that I'm available and willing to help with. But at least I plan to go into it a little wiser.
What about you? Have you ever committed to something that cost you more time or resources than you intended? How did you work through it? Please leave a comment.
