“I feel like I don’t know how to create anything while also feeling assured that, once I actually get started, I’ll somehow know what to do. Does that sound weird?” I ask, playing with the button on my red knitted cardigan. I’ll be wearing this for the next few days until the airport delivers my lost luggage. The one time I go against Mom’s golden rule of only carrying on.
“Of all the things you’ve ever said, Rooney, that is the least weird,” Jack says. His tone is gentle, and I can tell he’s trying to make me laugh. A small one comes out. It feels so good to laugh in this moment, my tightly packed emotions shaking loose.
“A lot of this is probably in my head,” I say. “I want to believe I can do this, but what if it’s not good enough and people think my work is awful?” I let out another laugh, but this one’s humorless. Jack’s expression doesn’t change. Steady, as always. “I want this to be successful.”
“And what does that mean?” Jack asks. “What does success look like to you?”
“Positive reviews of my installation,” I say right away. “Lots of people coming to see it. NASA being happy with choosing me.”
Jack nods. “So you need a thousand good reviews and a million people who want to come see your art?”
I’m caught off guard by his response. “I mean… no.”
“How many positive reviews do you need to feel successful? How many people need to show up?” He doesn’t ask these questions in a mean or judgmental way. In his voice is curiosity and thoughtfulness.
I don’t have an immediate answer. I run my hand along a railing guarding a silver rocket, taking the time to think. Overhead, gray clouds roll in slowly.
“I’ve always wanted my art to mean something. To have a positive impact on even one person’s life,” I admit quietly.
“So, one. If one person understands what you’re trying to do with your art and feels something from it, then you’ll feel successful,” he hypothesizes.
It clicks into place, what he’s trying to do. “Are you going to try to turn this into another test?” I groan playfully.
“Not a test. But let’s keep going through this. If one person is positively impacted, then it’s also likely they’ll have good things to say about your work. Do you think that’s true?”
I nod, a small grin forming on my face.
“And let’s say the average museum has roughly three thousand visitors in a day. Your installation will be up for about three months until the next one. Minus a couple of holidays. That’s, what, two hundred and seventy thousand visitors who will see your work in person? And then there’s social media. I think it would be safe to assume that one—no, more than one—person will be positively impacted by your work.”
I’m stunned not only by Jack’s mental math but by the way he broke down my anxieties and made them tangible.
“Okay, fine. So maybe one person is inspired. I also want to be a financially independent, working artist,” I tell him. “I know that this will take time. My mom wasn’t an overnight success until she didBaby Being Born. That exposure changed the game for her.”
“It does take time,” Jack says. “I know this from missions I’ve worked on. It takes literal years before there’s even the chance to see if we’re successful. For you, your work will compound. One person will see something you do, and over time, your audience will grow. It’s hard to do one thing and expect everyone to know your name.”
I sigh. “It’s just that, between my birth and everything in between that led me to art, I really do believe this is what I was meant to do. I literally picked a paintbrush as a baby.”
Jack must be able to sense my hesitation. “But?”
“But if everything is fated, what was earned? Is what I do actually good or is it only successful because it was meant to be? What if I’m really not that good and people are going to find out that I’m a fraud?” I ask. “It’s like everything I’ve done in my career is built on top of unsecured string and it can all unravel at any second.”
Around us, bushes rustle as the wind picks up. I’m in nature’s version of an air shower with my hair flying across my face. When the gust temporarily dies down, I flip my bangs back into place and meet Jack’s gaze.
“You aren’t a fraud, Rooney,” he says kindly, slowly reaching toward me to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You made choices about what installations you were going to design. The way I see it, you chose to be an artist. You make that choice every day when you wake up and create.”
“I construct installations about the Red Thread of Fate and love and bringing people together… when I haven’t ever been in a serious relationship before. Who am I to have anything to say about that?”
“You can have an opinion on love, even if you’ve never been in a relationship worthy of it,” Jack says. “Don’t discount your achievements. Have you ever considered working under your own name now that you’ve established yourself? I know there are people who love your work. I’ve seen the reviews.”
I shake my head firmly. “I can’t risk outing my identity. People will think I’m successful because of my mom. I don’t want them to think differently about my work.”
“It’s up to you and what you’re comfortable with,” Jack says. “But what you’ve accomplished is because of you. You’re NASA’s artist-in-residence. These things don’t just happen.”
I give him a weary smile. “Of course these things just happen. You literally called out of the blue.”
“Let me put it this way. If you were fated to be a success as Red String Girl, who’s to say you weren’t fated to also be successful as Rooney Something Gao?” Jack asks. “No one is going to make the switch for you. You have to be the one to choose it.” He takes my hand in his. “When you let fate take credit, you discount your hard work. You’ve had the ideas. You’ve executed them. Have you ever considered that maybe you are good enough, and it’s because of you?”
A somber laugh spills out of me and into the wind. “I don’t know how to answer that.” With my free hand, I squeeze the guard rail tighter. “I’ve been working at this for years, and I want to make the most of this moment, this second chance. I don’t want anotherEntangledon my hands. I don’t just want to shine. I want to sparkle, Jack. Like the stars.”
