.......you might get it!
This has to be my least-favorite proverb in the world. It sounds like those folktales about fools wasting silly wishes ("The Fisherman’s Wife") and bargains with the devil ("The Monkey’s Paw.") People get their wishes granted, but regret it afterwards. Making wishes is dangerous business, these stories seem to warn us. You can wish for the most wonderful thing in the world and the powers that be will twist it against you. Fairies’ gold turned to dry leaves the morning after.
It takes the very joy out of wishing, doesn’t it? And what a depressing view of the universe! The universe nothing better than to give with one hand and take away with the other. Yow!
Taken another way, though, this proverb is actually excellent advice. Instead of a dour caution, you could see it as an entreaty to think about what is really in your heart. Did you dream big enough? Dreams and wishes can come true, if you know what you really want, then work to create the conditions for them to happen.
When we regret a wish we’ve been granted, it’s often because we unconsciously limited the dream before it left our heart. We down-sized it to increase our chances of getting something. We don’t allow ourselves to dream big, to ask for too much. Because we don’t really believe our wishes can come true.
You can see this limiting process at work when people take their first tentative steps into selling their art or craft. I did it. You’ve probably done it, too. You ask for so little, then when you get it, it’s not enough. Or it's just all wrong.
Years ago, I began to reclaim my artistic self. (I know, it sounds like I picked up my dry cleaning....) I didn’t ask for much at first. I attended a seminar about becoming the artist you were meant to be, and told a roomful of strangers my dream was to make small, wonderful toys—tiny dolls, miniature knitted sheep—that could be held in one’s hand and marveled at. I couldn’t imagine affecting people in a more profound way than to appeal to their sense of playfulness. I didn’t think I had anything deeper or more substantial in me.
I wished I could find a way to sell lots my little toys. Of course, each one took a minimum of two hours to make. And I wanted to make sure they would sell, so I kept the price really low. After doing some very small local craft shows, I got my heart’s desire. A local store requested four dozen sheep, and they wanted them ASAP.
I spent the next two weeks doing nothing but knitting sheep. It was... Hmmmm... Let’s just say that knitting sheep—lots of sheep—gets boring fast. At first it was fun. Each sheep was so cute! After five in a row, the joy faltered. After twelve, I never wanted to see another skein of cream-colored yarn again. At 24, all I could think of was, "24 down, 24 to go." I managed to squeak out all 48. And swore I’d never make another. I kept one or two, because they are so darned cute. And also as a reminder of a lesson learned. Because in addition to all that knitting, I messed up on figuring my wholesale price. I’d simply cut my retail price in half. So I got $5 per sheep. ouch. I probably made less than $2 an hour, after materials.
I didn’t see this granted wish as a disappointment. (Okay, I'll be honest. At first I did.) But then I saw it as a blessing. Thank the Creator I hadn’t gotten more orders! I learned production work was not for me and I learned how to establish a decent wholesale price. And I had a couple hundred dollars in my pocket, enough money to finance my next endeavors.
In time, other ideas crossed my path. . Each time I’d think, "Maybe this is the thing that will take off!" They always did—enough to buy more supplies and make my hobby pay for itself—but not in the way I’d hoped. I followed them til they petered out or grew into something that took me too far away from my heart’s desire
Along the way I learned a lot the process of making work things and selling. I learned how to sell wholesale to retail stores. I learned about signage and display. I learned how to price my work, create a distinctive and original product, locate wholesale sources for supplies. I took my profits and reinvested in my business.
I learned the pros and cons of building a strictly local audience. I learned the limits and potential of advertising. I learned how to promote myself and my work. I taught classes when I could, but learned my heart lay in teaching myself the way to take each new step. Teaching was enjoyable and rewarding, but ultimately distracted me from my own goals.
Finally, I learned what I really wanted, what was truly in my heart. It turns out there was a story there, a story about how my dreams were echoed in the prehistoric artwork from a cave in France. I thought about why this story was important to me, and how I was going to share that story with the world.
I had a focus and a drive I’d never experienced before. Everything I’d learned about business was now focused on getting my story and my art out into the world. When I ran into what seemed like insurmountable difficulties, I solved them through perseverance, research and experimentation. And I loved the entire process, even the parts that drove me crazy. I was learning so much about myself, my art and my business.
Everything began to fall into place. Opportunities lay everywhere, more than I could take on. Doors opened, people appeared in my life, solutions beckoned. I still experience failure, but it doesn’t stop me. It’s a call to evaluate what I really want and whether I’m still on task to achieve it. And I see the presence of something in my life that treasures my creativity, that supports me achieving my dream.
If my true wish had been to sell lots of knitted sheep, there are business models to support that. I could have hired knitters, located a sales rep, done gift shows. But my real wish was to make something totally of myself, so fulfilling and intriguing that I would not tire of the production process; and to make something with such value and power, people would pay a lot to own one. I had a wish big enough to last me a lifetime. That was the right wish to be granted!
Most small business experts say it can take five years to get a new business off the ground. Even the IRS recognizes that it takes that long. Look at what you’re doing. Will you outgrow your current dream? Will you still love it five years from now? If I had been given what I wished for five years earlier, I would have outgrown that dream within six months.
When it seems like nothing you wish for comes true, ask yourself, "Am I dreaming big enough to last a lifetime?"
