The Bandwidth Question

Why I'm done searching for capacity I don't have and finally paying attention to what's already here

I keep saying it: “I don’t have enough bandwidth.”

You probably say it too. We all do. But what does that even mean?

For me, it means capacity. Thought process. Room in my brain. Mental stimulation. Energy. Space. It means so many things that sometimes I wonder if it means anything at all.

But here’s what I’m sitting with right now: Does saying “I don’t have enough bandwidth” actually work for us? Does it help us say no to things we’re asked to do? Does it give us permission to rest? Or are we just switching the station on the radio, frantically searching for bandwidth that doesn’t exist?

What does all of that look like?

As always, I don’t know the answers. But I’m looking. I’m questioning. I’m trying to figure out how to get more bandwidth.

Wait.

That’s the question right there, isn’t it? Why am I trying to get MORE bandwidth?

What if I slowed down and focused on the bandwidth I DO have? What if I said no to things (which I am doing, actually) and paid more attention to what’s already in my bandwidth instead of obsessing over what I don’t have bandwidth for?

The Scarcity Story

We’ve been trained to think in terms of not enough. Not enough time, not enough money, not enough space, not enough energy, not enough bandwidth. And when we operate from that place of scarcity, we’re always trying to create more, find more, squeeze more out of ourselves.

But what if the bandwidth we have right now is exactly what we need?

What if the work isn’t to expand our capacity, but to honor the capacity we already have?

What Lives in Your Bandwidth Right Now?

I’m asking myself this question in real-time. What’s actually taking up space in my bandwidth?

Making art. Running Shoebox Arts. Call and Response. Writing. Community Conversations. The artists I’m mentoring. My interns. Preparing for art fairs. The exhibitions. The daily logistics of running multiple interconnected projects.

That’s a lot. That’s actually everything.

And you know what? I keep trying to add more. I keep thinking about what else I should be doing, could be doing, need to be doing. I keep looking at the things I’m NOT doing and feeling like I’m falling short.

But what if I just... stopped?

What if I looked at what’s already here and said: This is enough. This is where my attention goes. This is my bandwidth, and it’s full of important work.

Permission to Be Finite

Here’s something I’m learning (slowly, messily, imperfectly): Being finite isn’t a failure.

You have limits. I have limits. Our bandwidth is not infinite, and that’s not a problem to solve.

When we say no because we don’t have bandwidth, we’re not being weak or uncommitted or unprofessional. We’re being realistic about our human capacity. We’re making space for the work that matters most.

And when we rest because we don’t have bandwidth? That’s not laziness. That’s maintenance. That’s how we sustain ourselves for the long game.

The Focusing Question

So here’s what I’m trying instead of “How do I get more bandwidth?”:

What deserves my bandwidth right now?

Not what could fill it. Not what other people think should fill it. What actually matters enough to take up space in my limited, precious, finite capacity?

For you, that might be your art practice and one day job and nothing else. It might be your family and your studio time. It might be a single project that needs your full attention.

Whatever it is, what if that’s enough?

What if you’re not behind or falling short or missing opportunities? What if you’re exactly where you need to be, doing exactly what you have bandwidth for?

A Different Kind of Radio Station

Maybe we don’t need to switch the station to find more bandwidth. Maybe we need to turn down the volume on everything else so we can actually hear what’s already playing.

I’m trying this. Saying no more. Protecting the bandwidth I have instead of constantly trying to expand it. Paying attention to what’s here instead of what’s missing.

It feels strange. It feels countercultural. It feels like I might be letting people down.

But it also feels like breathing.

What would it feel like for you?

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I’m still figuring this out. Still questioning. Still learning what it means to work within my actual bandwidth instead of the imaginary unlimited bandwidth I think I should have.

If you’re struggling with this too, you’re not alone. And you’re not doing it wrong.

You’re just finite. Like all of us.

And that’s okay.

DTLA on a rainy day last week. Talk about bandwidth…