11/8/21
I’ve often heard it said that, in life, there are creators and sustainers.
I had a professor in college who spent time detailing the difference, and I’ll spoil it for you outright – ultimately, it comes down to the use of time.
Sustainers spend the majority of their time – you guessed it – sustaining. Maybe their methods or emphases are different. Maybe some sustainers endeavor to maintain friendships, others get caught up in the hard work of managing their households. Maybe some sustainers even prioritize supporting the creativity of the people in their lives. The main point is that sustainers don’t lead by creating. Thank God for imagination, for inspiration.
Creators, on the other hand, most naturally acquiesce to the pursuit of creating. Think of designers, musicians, chefs. Maybe managers, lawyers, scientists, and marketers. And I would argue that, within the context of this postulation, creators fit into their stereotype – not that they’re incapable of sustaining but that it isn’t their natural strength. I think about some of my musician friends who struggle to organize their calendar or to manage their finances. Thank God for growth.
My favorite aspect of this purported dichotomy is its inherent balance. Sustainers empower, inspire, and uphold the work of creators, and creators deepen and enrich the lives of sustainers. It is beautiful harmony.
I think about Virginia and Leonard Woolf. For the sake of brevity, I won’t discuss their relationship in depth, but Leonard made way for Virginia and her writing. He edited, he managed, he built, he committed both of them to her work. She would have written without him, but he embodied encouragement and challenge in a way that drove her to higher heights. A gift.
Maybe we’re all both creators and sustainers. Maybe we make a choice at some point in our lives, conscious or not, to amplify some internal voice suggesting the best use of our time. Maybe we believe what people in our lives claim over us. Maybe we’re able to wake up each morning and speak something different into our minds, our hearts, our bodies.
Maybe I’ll always take time to straighten up my room before I feel ready to sit down and write. I have compassion for that. Maybe I’ll wake up each morning and struggle stumble strain over the choice offered to me as my eyelids flutter open. I’m learning to have compassion for that.
Lightly,
Leah
Leah Kepley, M.Ed. 