Collected
I have made it through life because people have decided to collect me in one way or another.
In third grade, a teacher took aim at me for writing my letters backwards and the irreverence of my scattered attention, but my speech therapist noticed my intelligence and creativity, placing me with a teacher better able to see who I was. I spoke with a speech impediment, but he intervened to protect and encourage me at a critical moment, changing my relationship with learning and the world. When I was in middle school, I found myself walking home one limp at a time after I rolled my ankle, moving slowly and trying to get through it, when a woman recognized me from her son’s class, pulled over and gave me a ride. At sixteen, I scheduled my driving test without a car, and a mentor from a public speaking competition showed up so I could practice with his. On test day, he bought me lunch and laughed loudly when I passed.
They all collected me when I needed support for the next phase of life or the next endeavor. My brain latched onto this and held it, and I began to understand that they grabbed onto me and chose me, often before I could fully name what I needed.
Once I noticed this happening, I started seeing it everywhere. People collected me again and again. I tried to understand the phenomenon, and the image of a claw machine filled my imagination.
Claw machines were everywhere as I was growing up, like the red vintage gumball machines, placed in restaurant lobbies, grocery stores, and laundromats. The claw machines were , loud with sirens and buzzing and flashing lights that pulled at my attention. I remember pressing my cheek against the cool glass, it felt nice on a hot summer day. Sticking quarters in the slot gave me a few tries, each one holding the possibility of collecting a prize. I watched the claw hover over piles of prizes. I was not coordinated enough to win, but the image stayed with me, the claw closing around a bewildered stuffed animal, lifting it.
Those I described who emerged in my life with unexpected support were exactly this for me.
As I sat confused on the piles of so many other choices and challenges, these people saw me. They were intrigued by the way I saw the world. They were impressed by the gentleness and care with which I created. They saw where I was going, were excited by what I was uncovering, and decided to accompany me on the way.
They became my collectors, collecting me out of piles with the thin hinged fingers of the claw machine. I have created and become all that I am only with their time, generosity, and willingness turned into action.
As I launch jocaca.com, I have been reflecting on these people and how they have collected me. I envision the mission and values I am reaching to create through art and spiritual direction only with collectors. I can only imagine this work taking shape with the support of my community, those who share these values and understand the necessity of new conversations and futures.
Be a collector. Be my collector. Collect me as I pursue what is next.
Visit the the Be A Collector page to find ways to support.
