How did I get here?

I am the face of depression. 

I am the face of mental illness.

I am the face of mental health.

I am the face of recovery.

I am the face of emotion.

I am the face of misunderstanding.

I am the face of change.

I am the face of passion.

I am the face of humanity.
I am the face of generosity.

I am the face of frustration.

I am the face of negativity.

I am the face of a wife.

I am the face of a mother.

I am the face of a sister.

I am the face of a daughter.

I am the face of family.

I am the face of your friend.

I am the face of creativity.

I am the face of a nurse.

I am the face of reality.

No longer can I hide. 

No longer may I crawl away.

I started writing here two years ago, when I felt like I found buried treasure.  My writing voice tucked away and safely stored.  My passion, masked by the veil I so proudly learned to cover my inadequacies.  My feeling, my soul, my longing for more, all gradually reappeared as I looked inside myself, as I honestly asked, and stubbornly demanded answers.  I have some now.  I will hear more soon.  I’m on the path of redemption.  I am serving penance for my missing years.  Years began a lifetime ago this month.  Years I was granted by God and years I lived unconsciously, mind and soul split into pieces, like torn paper floating downstream.  I was lost and now I’m found.  Or something equally dramatic and less prophetic.  How did I get here?

cue Johnny Cash...

I thought about this keyboard all day.  Thoughts positive and light, waiting to be pieced together and shared.  Here goes…

Been kinda’ down the last few months for whatever reason or sense of something missing.  Been searching, yearning, reaching…for something undefined and needed.  Overanalyzed everything.  Pushed people’s buttons til they walked away.  Hid from others because they could not see.  Blah, blah…the same old story I tell with every breath I take.  Evolution of L.  Sad saga.  Life goes on.  And WTF!

Pullin up those proverbial bootstraps and beginning again.  I fired and rehired myself.  Not sure when the metamorphosis ensued, or the event that triggered.  Not gonna’ over think this one, just gonna describe the feelings.  Hands inside the car, seatbelts fastened, tray tables set for lunch…I’m feeling better.  I feel good.  Smiling.  Positive.  My thoughts are turning toward the sun and my shoulders feel looser.  Cluttered cobwebs be gone!

So what?  So let’s enjoy, shall we?

I was called to give advice to a friend whom I’m just beginning to know.  The subject matter was only familiar because the problem involved a female, which I sometimes play on TV.  My friend is a man and I have no experience giving this kind of advice to a man. Long story shorter, I found my perspective intelligent and fair and I came away feeling strong and straight and alive.  Although my friend’s situation is heartbreaking for him, a door has opened within my soul and I feel the fresh air circulating in my brain.  Placing myself in another woman’s shoes in order to fulfill his answers, in order to create temporary solace, with hope that he can see the bigger picture before his cliff rises to meet his doubts and fears, wishing I could make sense of the unknown in order for his heart to continue beating…I listened for hours and I played my part.  He claims I helped him.  He thanked me for caring.  He continues to battle against his broken dreams.  And I pat myself on my back.

Something’s shifted.  Energy movement from him to me?  Chakra, karma, ying, yang?  Insert a profound quote.  Re-tweet from Buddha or to write love on her arms (TWLOHA).  Read a paragraph from my nurse’s notes in a resident’s chart.  Clicking. Jiving.  Dancing.  Mentally moving to the beat of another part of myself.  My confident self.  Shit I feel good typing these words.  Thinking this way, claiming this land as my own.  By myself, using my learned skills and practiced talents.  I work my earth to produce more.  More me.  More of my mind.  More to share with you.  If you’ll have me.

I have a garden metaphor pertaining to my growth.  I’ve sprinkled my garden throughout one or two blog entries, hoed and tilled and fertilized over time.  Ignored it too. Today the muddy path and tangled roots are clearing.  My seedlings are planted and  sheltered from the wind and snow that will fall again.  Spring will come, says my French class friend.  From afar I watch his moves.  Learning what he began teaching me last year.  To live today and love today.  To be grateful for who I am and who surrounds me.  Tragedy lurks and fate occurs and only God knows what time schedule we fly by.  No use to worry or ask why.  Create, elate, celebrate! 

Jb, you opened my eyes and pointed my gaze inward.  You encouraged me to bust open my soul’s windows, to enter cautiously into the dark depths of myself, kept hidden and cold.  You reminded me of a lifetime where my heart was clean and fresh and trusting.  You represent a part of myself, of my life, that was forgotten and left for dead.  You revived me without intention.  You assured me by proxy.  You did what I remember of you three decades ago:  shared kindness.  I didn’t realize how lost I was until you helped me find my passions, my dreams, my unanswered questions.  You lit the spark inside of me that I had no idea was dying.  I had no inkling of its existence, of the flames preparing to ignite. 

FIRE!!!!

So I ran.  I ran into my fire.  I’m a slow learner, a procrastinator, distracted and unstructured.  I’ve been running through my fire for months, fanning flames with beer and chocolate, throwing on logs made of restlessness and doubt, walking over hot coals instead of walking with God.  The warmth engulfs me and I become complacent and charred.  Such is life.  Life worth fighting for.  Life lived once on earth and life of grace to live later.  No matter how fast I run, or how hot my soul’s fire, life will lead.  I am life’s follower.  I am part of the massive picture, the one I cannot begin to see unless I believe.  Unless I allow my talents to emerge positively.  Unless I allow others inside, even when I doubt they will understand.  Unless I turn my face to the sun especially during the dark of night.  Unless I forgive myself for my past.  Unless I open my perspective to possibility I fear.  Unless I slow down enough to hear your soul’s song.  Unless I tend my garden and share my laborious fruits.  Unless I look around the blinders and stretch my head out of the sand.  Unless I ask and unless I answer. 

Peace
Hugs
Light
Love
~L

part of the story

(originally written to French class friend prior to the birth of this blog 10/2009)

Forty three years ago…my day is approaching. Unconscious reflection consistently appears this time of year. I remember some horrible horrible birthdays. Sad, cautious, mean birthdays. In my adulthood. The best b-days were the ones in Wheeling. Mom combined brother's with mine cause his is November, and we themed it Halloween. All the kids wearing costumes and bobbing for apples in our basement and a long picnic table inside with party hats, cake and balloons. A world ago. Another lifetime…my first lifetime.

My lifetime before the move and divorce a couple years later. Before I was forced to stand under dad’s umbrella of confusion and guilt. When Mom asked us who we wanted to live with and she gave us to Dad anyway.

…Before we visited Mom at her little condo apartment down the road and had sleep overs with the strange furniture and strange expectations. Before Mom moved in with that guy with a long ponytail, at his house. Where did he come from? And where’s Morton Grove? Too far apparently to see Mom often. Good thing I was almost outta there…5 hour drive away to the next lifetime.

1976: Step right up folks, see the brand new home built in the sticks, away from everything familiar and everyone I know in my whole life of ten years old. Bigger house, better home? Mom works sporadically, Dad develops his home office. Why is he staying overnight so often at his apartment in Chicago? Doesn’t he work here? Oh the weather and the games and the nightlife…disco lessons and foreign friends. Huh??

Then the long secret, closed-door discussions Mom and Dad would have in the basement office. We’d sit upstairs watching TV and listening for arguing…none heard. Don’t think it’s bad, cause they’re not hurting each other as far as we can tell. No explanation for a year or so. Then mom takes me into her room to fold laundry with her, one quiet evening. Dad’s in the city, bro and sis somewhere else in the house…The laundry folding talk will always be remembered.

The main points: Your Dad and I are divorcing. Who would you like to live with, if you could choose? Well, sorry, Dad said he would take us all to court and fight for custody so I’m letting him have you. I don’t want that court experience to hurt you. He’ll keep you here, same house, same routine, same friends. You can stay home from school tomorrow and Dad’s coming home so we can talk as a family.

My thoughts: Where did this come from? I didn’t even see you argue or hear yelling from the basement. Why would I want to live with Dad, he’s never around, he and I don’t do anything together, and he’s no fun. Are you joking? I need my mother. So dad’s got more money and knows people who can screw you? I get it, dad’s in the mafia or something and he wants our life to suck. See why I don’t want to live with him? Are you joking? When is this happening to me? What do I tell my friends? Nothing’s the same. Where’s my Mom gonna be when I need her? When will I wake up from this dream? What is happening????

The new lifetime begins. How many is that now?

And the journaling begins. And so does the lifetime of depression. The lifetime began is replaced with the unknown eggshell walk of teen angst and risky behavior and self disrespect and craving love and wishing for change and fighting the forces of unreasonable expectations. Bye bye childhood lifetime. I’ll remember you fondly and pretend I’m still there with you. You, me, child innocence, growth began, wonderment explored, hopes raised, comfort creepin in…I mourn you all. And never see you again.

Finality hurts, no matter the reason.

Loss is mourned, no matter the subject.

No matter who you are

Who you want to be

Losing lifetime is unfair…

For a child.

Find the cost of Freedom…CSNY sings to me now. The costs are high and I’m not done paying. Mother Earth will swallow you, lay your body down. Wish it was that simple. Not my choice to end God’s lifetime. Must live on until He says I’m done. My lifetimes may be molded though.

15 and counting...

we are now officially an exclusive group

living on the shady side of blogland

helping each other find words to use and songs to sing

sharing our fuzzy wuzzies

sharing our shitty gritty

real stuff

real people

real goodness

I expect fair reason

I expect calm critique

I expect YOU and I

I expect to laugh and cry

Please welcome your peers and allow their fears

please remember your p's and q's

feeling is allowed

expression is welcome

comment

link

think

listen

hear

~please sign up for email subscription (over there>>>>>>>>) so you don't have to sign in and check for new posts.

~if you want to guest post, email me. you may wish to privately publish your art and see the comments follow. you may want to talk about a subject important to you and watch people act. you may enjoy creating poetry and secretly want to share. I hesitated too. I put my faith in YOU. I began again and unlocked my soul's secrets...and I've survived. God's blessings and peace be with you.

Love,

~L

sky over Muskegon

viewed from my car at the Meijer gas station

Coldplay CD blaring

A/C blasting

Breyers chocolate melting

shot the movement and changes

time out for twenty minutes

cathartic release

daily meditation

reminder of our awesome God

and available blessings

on this west coast

summertime sunset

amen for peace

going underground

I've made a decision and it includes YOU. 

I'm privatizing my blog, inviting only, sharing my innermost bullshit with those who choose to accept.  If YOU want to be included, please comment to this entry.  I'll leave it up for one week and then I'm closing the public shop and sending out secret handshakes.  

Yea, I may be copping out, but I'm doing it my way.  My way to play is too honest for some.  My way of communicating seems to muddle friendships and mess relationships.  Not my intention all those 9 or 10 months ago.  Delicate beginnings beg to be reborn. Once bitten, twice shy.

Advice and ideas are always welcome.

Negativity is not.

I'm building a positive playhouse.  I need a respite to call my own.  I'm sorry for YOU who are offended by my deepest honesty.  I am sorry for YOU who must question my emotions against yours.  I'm sorry that YOU did not appreciate my creativity for creativity's sake.  I am sorry that YOU may not allow yourself to know the real me.  I will see you on the flipside, calm, cool and collected.  Non controversial as agreed.

until I hear from YOU again...for whatever reason,

PEACE,

~L

RN again

yep, I got the job I interviewed for last week and wrote about here.  Thankful for your support as well as that of my family, extended family, fb friends, and of course God...who, by the way, always leads me on the path I need to walk.  Duh! 

Why I freak out over an interview when I've been describing myself to social workers and psychiatrists and family members for decades, I'll never know.  Just me and my insecurity dueling at the front of the line.  Step right up, see the middle-aged nurse doubting herself again.  Place your bets on the time she takes to SNAP OUT OF IT!  

uh, hello, where am I?  I'm employed?  I survived the self-sell?  

I earned opportunity!  I will be working! as an RN!   Wait, what?

AND MY JOURNEY CONTINUES~~~

to the middle

toward community

hearts mending

hopes growing

view, frame, focus

begin again

again

PEACE,

~L

just one thing

Recently a friend asked me what I was afraid of, why I'm not opening my heart and "using my gifts" on my blog, like I used to do...Challenge!  

Well he's not too far from right:  I have held back a bit. Since my words to important people in my life, people of my life, people I live for, set off a firestorm of anxiety. Some people are hurt.  Some are helped and some helped me.  Some wonder and watch.  Some question my processes.  Human beings I love, know more me.

I responded with face to face conversations, more truth, and putting my best work back into 'draft' mode.  Why?  To settle what I stirred.  To see what soup I created out of spontaneous epiphany.  To wait for the dust to settle.  To step back and peer through the window.  To talk to my husband instead of write about talking.  To assess my artistic senses with God's lead.  To watch my world through opened eyes.  

Perspective gained.  Respect delivered and received.  Confidence soaring on mended wings and meaning.  I've found and discovered something new each day since I wrote this piece.  Each moment lived with my blessings and family and friends, lived and loved and longed for more.

Here is more of me...just one thing.

 And I want it so bad, it's the first thing I see when I wake~my morning jacket

 

You may or may not have noticed a change in me. I've made a discovery about myself.   I've unwrapped a few layers and found perspective.  My new view.  My eye for the shot and my feel for the words. Talent.  Art. I am artistic. Two hobbies restarted in the past 6 months for the purpose of sorting and compartmentalizing priorities, goals, and next steps...Poof!  These ARE your priorities, goals and next steps. Really?  Who says?  How do you know?  Do you have proof?

They fit me.  I fit into them.  Yes, like a glove.  The feelings of satisfaction and purpose and knowing...priceless and unexpected and warranted.  You may understand this passion for self discovery.  You may understand how you look in your mirror and congratulate yourself.  You may know feeling accomplished because you completed, finished, succeeded, attempted, adhered.  You may have felt satisfaction and pride.  You may know how I feel now.

I am the lighting for my shot.  I am the thesis for my essay.  My fingers unconsciously moving across the keyboard produce comprehension.  My eyes hunt and search for composition among the mundane.  Naturally talented, gifted, surprised.

And I have proof.  This is not random thought trying to fit into specific challenge.  This is not a whim suggested by behavior of another.  I did not choose these creative expressions.  They chose me.  God chose me.  I accept my gifts and promise to handle them with care.  Thank you.

So now what?  Where to go, where to take my writing and shooting?  How do I use them for the greater good?  Funny how the expression, "starving artist" keeps popping into my mind.  Making money from my recently found completeness may be difficult or unnecessary.  Maybe my talents are not meant for production.  Maybe I should be shooting and writing to spread the word, the news, to educate, initiate, expedite.  This is not all about me.  It's bigger than me.

I am filling with spirit and my soul is awakening. I've worked at nothing purposely.  My work, my creative work, is my purpose.  My meaning.  ME.  I feel defined for the first time ever.  Not labeled with the role I must play or the line I should walk.  I feel discovered and highlighted and glowing.  The cracks of my years are aligning into a supportive foundation.  Goodbye fog, hello structure.  My structure.  This crashing force, energized by fresh purpose, keeps me breathing.  Breathing easier now.  Breathing the breath of my future.

My entire life has been a search party for this very day.  My day of unconditional love and honest acceptance.  My day to prove to family and friends, past and present, that I can do it.  Not just say I can.  Mean I can.  BE I can.  This unconditionality does not originate from the love of a human being as I believed it always would.  Should.  No, this brand spankin' new confidence, joy and longing, grows from within myself.  My soul and mind have enmeshed into a shining colorful aura and has settled peacefully into the chambers of my heart, the recesses of my skin, and rides gently the rapids of every breath I take.

I don't want this feeling to end.  Rough, raw, and rare with a sprinkle of humility.

People who know me and my search history, may think my methods have been haphazardly conducted.   I had to follow the threads, no matter where they went, as long as I felt loved along the way.  Acceptance by proxy.  Patterns formed and habits stuck.  Four decades makes marks and leaves scars and develops self reputation.  Self labels are applied and the consequences are invisibly damaging.  Beliefs form out of fragments of behavior, theirs and mine.  Settling comes with the territory of balance.  Expression dims as necessary and whole pieces break off the core.  My core.  My wishes and dreams.  My wants and needs.  My self, my being, my id and ego.  Cracking up and cracking open.  Investigations initiated and specialists referred.  We can rebuild her.  

Writing sporadically I soothed demons.  Shooting infrequently, I shared love.  Sparks not strong enough to create fire yet.  Keep rubbing those sticks together...you'll get it eventually.  Don't give up.  Keep trying.  You can do it.  Do what?

I don't want to list the ventures, a-ha moments, or sure things that strung me together over the years.  Sacrifices were made for my eventual success and martyrs wait patiently for their reward.  Here it is.  This is it.  I have found what I've been looking for.  I am ready to continue to self-nurture my strengths.  For the first time.  For the last time.  For now.  No more looking.  No more wonder.  This is my talent, my being, my core.  Nice to meet you.

Happy Easter!

 

EASTER

is a beginning

thus

I begin.

BEGIN

anew, refreshed, confident and tall.

Begin

at the beginning

the day

the month

the positive 

 the purposeful.

OPEN

the doors and windows

of life.

Become what I am

who I am.

Open

look inside

SEE.

Thoughts and words and visions

making

creating

evolving

transforming

 believing

living

NOW.

with God's grace

I survive.

with God's beauty

I am surrounded.

with God's faith

I search.

with God's forgiveness

I seek.

with God's son

I sin.

I begin.

tears of a clown

I wrote this piece a few weeks ago, after my weekend city shoot in Chicago.  "Four Seasons" is an outdoor mosaic created by artist Marc Chagall.  His work stands proudly on a plaza among the historic business district of the south Loop.  When you next visit Chicago, please find this oasis among the steel and brick and business.

I cried while looking at the Chagall.  They just started, filled my wide open eyes.  Sitting alone in the middle of giants, beauty beyond any expectation.  I wept and felt relief. The pigeons kept me company and the sound was unbearably quiet.  Or maybe I tuned out everything that wasn't on those tiles.  The colors spoke to me, all randomly ordered.  The scenes and suns pulled me closer.  After walking the perimeter twice, I knew where to find Marc Chagall's six signatures.  I shot all six. Shot every wall, every angle, every sun in every scene.  A Sunday morning oasis where I recognized hope.  Walking away felt uneasy.  Looking back through damp eyes, I promised my return.

My mind and heart don't line up on the same plane as they did last week.  Chicago changed everything.  I changed.  I chose and I changed.  Walking alone but with my camera, my other eye, and meeting whatever I wanted to shoot.  Choices belonged to me alone.  Each one wrapped in me.  Wrapped with my freedom, security, knowing.  Passion fires burning for three days.  Passion for pursuit.  Pursuing my future one minute at a time.  One shot plus one more plus the next one.  All lining up for me, because of me, in spite of me.  When I look into my new mirror I see through the viewfinder.  The camera fits me.  I am the camera.  

And how do I move from this intersection of reality?  Remains to be seen is creeping closer.   Feels like the first time and feels like forever.  Life is never boring and I like it.  Building my puzzle is challenging, especially when I find new pieces so often.  Is God trying to tell me that I am running out of time?  You and I both know the answer to that one.  Life is now.

Since I posted my chi-town pics, 4 more people have clicked my blog follow button and many compliments have been sent my way.  Never have I been validated like this.  I'm an amateur.  My talent is raw.  I'm flattered and overwhelmed.  I feel like I'm in a dream sequence where all that was status quo is suddenly dropped upside down and shattered into millions of pieces.

I'm not a strong-willed personality.  I need people to prop me.  That's how I'm built.  At 43 years old with two giant passions overtaking my daily sensibilities, I need to share and see my fire spark more.  I need to-know-me-is-to-love-me.  The gloves off and the cards laid on the table.  The benefit of the doubt.  The trust.  My blog has been good for me, and I  keep shooting, and transforming.  With each click of the keyboard and each snap of the shutter, I move away from the fork in my road and away from empty.  I'm filling up.  finally.    

just one thing (the hidden draft)

And I want it so bad, it's the first thing I see when I wake~my morning jacket

 

You may or may not have noticed a change in me. I've made a discovery about myself.   I've unwrapped a few layers and found perspective.  My new view.  My eye for the shot and my feel for the words. Talent.  Art. I am artistic. Two hobbies restarted in the past 6 months for the purpose of sorting and compartmentalizing priorities, goals, and next steps...Poof!  These ARE your priorities, goals and next steps. Really?  Who says?  How do you know?  Do you have proof?

They fit me.  I fit into them.  Yes, like a glove.  The feelings of satisfaction and purpose and knowing...priceless and unexpected and warranted.  You may understand this passion for self discovery.  You may understand how you look in your mirror and congratulate yourself.  You may know feeling accomplished because you completed, finished, succeeded, attempted, adhered.  You may have felt satisfaction and pride.  You may know how I feel now.

I am the lighting for my shot.  I am the thesis for my essay.  My fingers unconsciously moving across the keyboard produce comprehension.  My eyes hunt and search for composition among the mundane.  Naturally talented, gifted, surprised.

And I have proof.  This is not random thought trying to fit into specific challenge.  This is not a whim suggested by behavior of another.  I did not choose these creative expressions.  They chose me.  God chose me.  I accept my gifts and promise to handle them with care.  Thank you.

So now what?  Where to go, where to take my writing and shooting?  How do I use them for the greater good?  Funny how the expression, "starving artist" keeps popping into my mind.  Making money from my recently found completeness may be difficult or unnecessary.  Maybe my talents are not meant for production.  Maybe I should be shooting and writing to spread the word, the news, to educate, initiate, expedite.  This is not all about me.  It's bigger than me.

I am filling with spirit and my soul is awakening. I've worked at nothing purposely.  My work, my creative work, is my purpose.  My meaning.  ME.  I feel defined for the first time ever.  Not labeled with the role I must play or the line I should walk.  I feel discovered and highlighted and glowing.  The cracks of my years are aligning into a supportive foundation.  Goodbye fog, hello structure.  My structure.  This crashing force, energized by fresh purpose, keeps me breathing.  Breathing easier now.  Breathing the breath of my future.

My entire life has been a search party for this very day.  My day of unconditional love and honest acceptance.  My day to prove to family and friends, past and present, that I can do it.  Not just say I can.  Mean I can.  BE I can.  This unconditionality does not originate from the love of a human being as I believed it always would.  Should.  No, this brand spankin' new confidence, joy and longing, grows from within myself.  My soul and mind have enmeshed into a shining colorful aura and has settled peacefully into the chambers of my heart, the recesses of my skin, and rides gently the rapids of every breath I take.

I don't want this feeling to end.  Rough, raw, and rare with a sprinkle of humility.

People who know me and my search history, may think my methods have been haphazardly conducted.   I had to follow the threads, no matter where they went, as long as I felt loved along the way.  Acceptance by proxy.  Patterns formed and habits stuck.  Four decades makes marks and leaves scars and develops self reputation.  Self labels are applied and the consequences are invisibly damaging.  Beliefs form out of fragments of behavior, theirs and mine.  Settling comes with the territory of balance.  Expression dims as necessary and whole pieces break off the core.  My core.  My wishes and dreams.  My wants and needs.  My self, my being, my id and ego.  Cracking up and cracking open.  Investigations initiated and specialists referred.  We can rebuild her.  

Writing sporadically I soothed demons.  Shooting infrequently, I shared love.  Sparks not strong enough to create fire yet.  Keep rubbing those sticks together...you'll get it eventually.  Don't give up.  Keep trying.  You can do it.  Do what?

I don't want to list the ventures, a-ha moments, or sure things that strung me together over the years.  Sacrifices were made for my eventual success and martyrs wait patiently for their reward.  Here it is.  This is it.  I have found what I've been looking for.  I am ready to continue to self-nurture my strengths.  For the first time.  For the last time.  For now.  No more looking.  No more wonder.  This is my talent, my being, my core.  Nice to meet you.

part deux

I'm a mother of two almost adults.  Daughter is 20 and son is 18.  Daughter lives at University most of the year, son and husband live with me.  Soooo, unlike lots of other bloggers I run into and childhood friends I facebook with, I am pretty much done parenting.  For the most part, the foundation is set.

That leaves me and hubby to....be married?  Oh, it's time for us now?  See, we started with the parental role before we put on our spousal hats, before we knew each other, before we knew how to be each other.  Now we're looking at all the baggage collected during the 21 year journey and wondering what to cull and what to keep.  What lessons have we learned?  What compromises stuck and what conditions stymied?  Do we talk about our future or pretend it will create itself?  Are we beginning again?  Should we?

I spread my fears onto these pages.  I wrestle my thoughts and categorize my questions.  I wonder and wish and want.  I stand in the mud, thick dark mud.  Unrelenting.  Inflexible.  Solidifying.  My muddy garden path, snaking through two decades, leading me in circles and squiggles and to forks in the road.  I'm a traveler and this is my journey.  Looking for daily definitions amongst my shades of grey.  My garden clogs are on and my pruners are sharpened.  Am I ready?

melancholy baby

With the addition of my third blog follower (welcome friend!) and the recent invites I've given out, I am anticipating familial questions and sensitive surprise to the premier of my shades of grey.

I feel the need to explain my metamorphosis.

As mentioned in my profile, I was encouraged by a friend.  A friend whom I haven't seen for 27 years, since high school French class.  He sat behind me.  With my girl friend sitting nearby, we formed a triangle of innocent teasing and instant trust.  I looked forward to going to that class and smiling and laughing and feeling like high school was going to be ok.  He was two years ahead of us.  A senior trumping our two sophomores.  No matter, in French class we were all equally inept.

He asked me to go out with him.  I said no.  I feared my father and what may explode by breaking a family rule.   Rule #1:  no dating until you are 16.  I was 15.  Instead, I bought him the new Scorpions album he had been excited about.  Actually I don't remember which came first, the album or the asking.  Doesn't matter, both were turning points.

And three decades forward another page is turned.  I found my french class friend on facebook.  Just a fluke, as I was perusing some high school reunion site or something.  I was a newbie to the social networking scheme, sending a few notes, watching people, stalking as they say.  Most of the other alums were enjoying their reconnections.  I'll give it a try, I thought.  In September, my friend received a brief email from "the girl from french class."  Nothing lost for trying.  What will I gain?

He remembered.  He responded.  He and I reminisced and wrote and realized the 27 years between us.  We have some stuff in common now.  We shared stories through the internet mail and laughed at our past selves.  He complimented my ideas and allowed me to express myself.  Thoughts easily flowed through my fingertips and onto the screen.  Anticipation of my friend's reaction overtook my senses.  Joy.  Awareness.  Introspection.  I was writing again. 

So as my patient friend received emails of my essays and observations, I began to realize what was missing.  As he encouraged me to write and work out my thoughts, I thought of more.  I dove deeply into myself and rescued a necessary treasure.  I opened my eyes and asked myself the hard questions.  I used writing and the writing used me.  I flew through my past, attacked my present, and wondered about my future.  I was hooked again.  I needed to write.  I needed to feel.  I needed to breathe.  And my friend needed a break.

I must introduce you to my friend.  He and I knew each other briefly all those decades ago.  Two teenagers who lived from minute to minute.  There was no contact after that year.  We went our separate ways...to the same college, we found out recently.  To careers, marriage, children, mortgages, and the meaning of our lives.  We had lots to share in those early emails, and I couldn't get enough.  After all, I had a willing audience and he responded positively to most everything I fed him.  My friend is as gracious as I remember him, and I have told him so.

My honesty spewed forth and many questions were asked.  I opened my eyes and my heart, looking for answers.  Kinda' risky for a fragile emoter, such as I.  My friend pulled me back and gave me advice.  He helped me see the importance of my thinking and how I could rope in my enthusiasm on my own blog.  Really?  On the internet, for everyone to see?  And how about writing short stories using your experiences?  Really?  Me?  Thanks for the vote of confidence.

Caterpillar chrysalis becomes butterfly.  Wings of hope fly me forward.  Breathing easier.

Now I introduce myself to you and the www.  Hello, here I am.  This is me.  This is what I think about.  This is what has happened to me.  These are my dreams, fears, wants, needs.  Here you will research a middle aged woman, wife, mother of two, daughter, sister, aunt.  Here lies my inner workings, the core of my being.  I have come through and around and under challenges.  I have wished and wondered and waited for life.  I have lived and loved and loathed.  You will hear my history.  You will discover my doubts.  You will feel my future.  You will penetrate my present.  You will explore my expectations.  You will read me.

Please enjoy.
Peace.

Day#7: Restart and reboot yourself.

Exciting news...I have a second follower!  Thanks friend.  Hope you enjoy.

Haven't worked in a week and lots has happened at home.  First, home feels like home again.  I like having my time to putz around the house in my sweats and un-brushed hair.  Been making lists, checking them thrice.  Been listening to lots of Wilco, our next concert adventure.  Been perusing facebook friends, stalking, if you wish.  Been looking at each new day positively.  Someone may be proud of me, besides me, myself and I.

G-dog and I have spent quality time visiting the vet, twice.  She didn't even pee on the dog scale or when the woman in the white coat stepped into the room.  Good girl.  Today she sat drooling in the backseat while I ordered my soy carmel latte, which earned her two dog treats from the window barista.  Lucky dog!    She's healthy, btw...almost ten= almost 70 in human years.  My elder.

Daughter's home from school for 3 more days, then her world turns sorority. She is our first born and she turns 20 next week.  Good Lord, that's two decades of living...20 years ago I gave birth after 16 laborious hours of bitching at my husband.  At least he says I was quite bearish, I don't remember the details, only the encompassing pain. She successfully birthed and we quietly began our little family.  I was not the girl who dreamed of marriage and babies and picket fences, of any color.  Surprise! Instant mother.  How'd I do?

It's 3:20 in the am, everyone sleeps during the best writing hours.  No interruptions.

Back to the home feeling...checking stuff off my daily lists feels like added value.  I've been missing the value, missing the purpose, the reason.  Even though people show me and tell me and explain to me how life works, I doubt them.  I think of their words and remember the examples.  I appreciate all advice.  In the end I do it my way and let the chips fall.  I've been busy for years, picking up my chips.  Every day I bend a bit less and say wtf and move on.  Egads!  I'm following advice!

Take my new friend Bono for instance...he's singing to me right now about taking only what you can't leave behind and walking on.  Poetic, yes.  Easy to listen to, yes.  Can't wait to see you in concert, yes.  I can only take so much, Bono.  I need to expel you from my consciousness and pull out my instincts, the big guns, and move forward.  OK, maybe I'm leaving someone else behind, but necessary for my soul's survival...now.  Rock on for life.

What else happened at home this week?  Christmas is all gone.  Sent a couple gifts to new friends, awaiting their reaction.  Posted new photos on fb, taken with my new camera, chosen with help from other fb photographers.  Thank you again, I'm enjoying my Cannon Rebel xsi.  Contemplating whether to buy the telephoto lens for the $100 deal by the 16th.  I already spent more than Jeff and I agreed on.   So maybe I've convinced myself that the deal for the lens is too good to pass up.  Uh, do you think Bono would mind if I'm materialistic and self serving just this once, I mean again?

Graciously accepted my new position at work.  No more management-in-training.  Just working 8 hour charge nurse shifts, on a regular schedule.  Now plans can be made and life anticipated.  So I have to begin again, begin getting my groove back. No big whoop.  I can adjust.  My new style wears well so far.  Soon the emperor's new clothes will be paraded in front of the residents.  Hope they can see my beautiful colors!

4:01 am on the clock face...to be continued.

peace

cleaning up the slush

As you may have noticed, I've added a few blog entries from my recent past.  I deleted saved  emails, especially those I know don't have the same meaning for me today. The salvaged and meaningful parts now rest peacefully at my newly decorated and reorganized blog.  Welcome to 2010.

Beginnings are as complicated as endings sometimes.  I deem today, day number one, a good starting line for honest self realization.  Honesty seems to be the running subject this week with my friends and family.  One blogger friend writes that he is honestly expressing anger and sadness in front of people who may not understand his challenge.  Another friend is angered because of someone else's dishonesty aimed in her direction.  My honest opinions are stirred up inside, waiting for permission to expel.  How, when, why will the truth be set free?

Even though my December has been quite grey, I intend to turn my January into a opportunity rainbow hanging proudly above the path of least resistance.  I'm forgetting the unanswered requests and the hollow expectations.  The last three months have to be put onto the shelf.  No more analyzing.  No more questions.  No more unanswered emails.  No more daily doses.  No more wishing and wanting.  What I have now is what I will have always.  Let's make this count girlfriend!

So day #1 is another beginning. Revisiting my recently written words has highlighted the truth of my weaknesses.  I don't like looking at myself closely.  The mirror doesn't lie.  And what appears to be me, may not be who I am representing.  I promise to pull myself together each and every morning so I may look honestly at my core.  My soul is real and my hurt is real, and I will get through this fog.  My happiness is true too.  And my contentment with what I have now, is enough...is more than enough, if I see the truth.

Back to perspective, a theme I started contemplating at the beginning of December, when searching for my photographic roots.  Now I own a camera and I looked through the lens and found another view.  This view is going to be shared and shouted out to everyone I love.  You don't have to love my view or me.  I don't expect from you anymore.  I only expect from me.  Great expectations today.

If I continue to rely on other human beings to lift me or direct me or praise my soul, then I will wilt and maybe die.  I am not afraid to die, I am afraid to die broken.  Death is sweet and heavenly and different perspective.  Death is where I will forever be honest and eternally be comfortable with myself.  God  wants me to work on these attributes here, on the evil earth.  A trial run to strengthen my soul and generate faithfulness of love to other sinners.  Simple.  Wise.  Necessary.  peace.

Music and medicine and hugs and help;  photographs and finishing and listening and letting; acceptance and awareness and belief and blogging.  Recipe for renewal.  Equation for equalizing.  Plan to prepare to be proud.  :)

no line on the horizon (thanks U2)

Is it possible for an entire album of songs to relate to one person at one time in their life?  Or am I just imagining or wishing or expecting?  I agree with Stevie Wonder that songs are the key of life.  The poetry of motion of the soul and the heart.  The answers and questions of the particular moment you are listening.  Make them fit into your world and they feel better, the words feel like you and you feel better. 
Whatever needs are needed can be comforted.  Build yourself a wall and good music knocks part of it down for you. Sing the music yourself and you fly into the next life.  Anything is possible with emotion of want and fear and creativity.  Vulnerability. Susceptibility. All can work for you if you let in your sound. 

she's a rainbow and she loves the peaceful life...

it's not a hill it's a mountain as you start out your climb...                         

the sweetest melody is the one we haven't heard...

shout into the darkness, squeeze out sparks of light...

BEAUTY

And I share my songs through writing here...and there.  Talking doesn't cut it for me.  The right combination of thought falls from fingertips to keyboard easier than from mind to mouth.  Why is that? Why has this always worked for me, since childhood?  Am I hiding something from those who don't read me?  Am I perfecting a strength or developing a secret language?  My language.  The real me.  I'm just beginning this discovery, thus the forward momentum and the two deer turning the corner in the tall snowdrift.  Everything seems new today and tomorrow again.  Words spoken cannot describe.  Words spoken may not be interpreted correctly...see, secret language.  Words spoken are not always heard.  I'll stick with writing. 

I write for me and a few others and this www.  It makes no sense to me but it feels like common sense.  And the people who appreciate my writing make sense to me.  Am I distancing myself from the non readers?  Am I looking at my world with new glasses on?  A fresh perspective is granted and I flap my wings a bit more...actually I develop my second wing and no longer fly in circles.  Amazing.  Thankful.

But I must land soon and return to the non writing world of daily routine.  A different part of me that craves to shout out and begs to make a sound, stays intact for 8 hours of responsibility.  I am proud of my discipline and surprised by my control.  Only 8 hours.

And only 8 more days...