to have and to hold

I'm not gonna stand and wait

I'm nothing on my own

~Coldplay

what feels right,
right here,
next to, in front, and around every corner
the one who knows,
knows
who I am
why I am here
what I need to work on
and working
together

talk and tell and teach,

feel what I feel 

listen, learn, like me

best

not when I'm holding the conch shell

not when I'm falling asleep while you read

not the minute I walk in the door

you understand

you just forgot

so did I

happenstance has changed our plans...






we share
we hear
we feel
we know
we are together

everlasting

everything

where's that confounded bridge?

monday

“You don’t have to yell!”

…after I exuberantly say hello to the creature clutching the computer in the corner of the couch.  Nice greeting.  Status quo for sure.  Sarcastically disrespectful and full of fire.  Spoiled brat mumbles under breath, believing his diatribe represents respect.  I squeeze together threads of patience and talk my gut out of stirring and convince my eyes to stay dry.  Home.

wednesday

Three nights alone.  Three days silent.  Invitation to dinner accepted.  Uncomfortable sighs and intentional body language received.  Excuse me as I remove my ego from the table.   Breathe deeply  the pseudo self confidence and quickly compose my mind’s mixed messages into an appropriate rendition of restraint.  Serenity now.  Serenity now.

Night four begins.

thursday

No line on the horizon this morning.  Only the familiar muddled shades of grey shuffled between green needles of pine.  Step out.  Look from behind the north face and over the rising moon.  Enjoy the thrill of the meet, the hunt for understanding.

Visualize your view.   Only yours.  Keep it simple and kiss it hello. 

Allow today to enter through your mind’s eye, ahead of the unconscious scrum of ancient messages.  Intend.  Intentionally push suspicions away.  Useless to imagine thoughts, feelings and expectations unstated.  Observe your ego.  Talk yourself up.  Use reminders.  Conquer triggers.  Stomp stigma.  Hope. 

Step onto the tightrope, the one parallel to your horizon.  Your line.  Your walk.  Your decisions.  Balance or hit the net.  Then mulligan if necessary.

peace

namaste

shalom

~L

Karma

And sometimes that's what giving back is all about. 

Lifting yourself to a height in which you may be able to see clearer. 

Allowing your instincts to lead.

Feeling the moment. 

Reading the signs.

One person's generosity lays foundation for another to receive,

humbly, proudly, gratefully. 

Give and take. 

Teach and learn. 

Laugh and cry. 

 

Because I open my mouth, however so subtly, I learn.

Ask and ye shall receive.  

Posing the tough questions of myself,

writing,

sharing,

receiving reaction,

relationship building.

Circles overlap and connect us.

Being humans. 

Infallible and involved. 

The rhythm of reason marches on,

without us if necessary.

When we choose to step back into line, we are rewarded with minute gifts,

barely noticeable through the daily fog of perseverance. 

Through the NOW. 

Through the wtf's and whatever's.

Through and through we trudge on and do what we have to do.

And our gifts lie unopened until we need them, and then are opened unconsciously, while we sleep and dream and refill our energies.

We awaken refreshed and renewed and ready. 

Today we have more than we had yesterday. 

We know more,

we sense more,

we realize more.

we must give more today.

Only love can leave such a mark, such a scar...just a fight until we die.  

I'm hungry. I'm foolish.

I am the one in our family that brings up the death discussions. 

When I was in college, many years ago (ahem), I was alone with my step Grandmother when she coded in the hospital and died. She was the first body I stared at lying in a casket wearing caked make-up, not the way she looked all those weekends she slept at our home. 

I wrote about it and felt better.

I took a course at Indiana University called "Death and Dying" and read Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' book about the stages of grieving.   After studying dying, death, and how our loved ones are affected, I promised myself to plan my arrangements.  I bring up the subject freely, with my husband, my kids, my siblings, my parents...just as if the interest of my organ donation request and eventual cremation is dinner table talk.

I live and I die everyday. 

 We all do. 

  If we prepare for life's daily routines, then we should also plan for

 the day we die...and a few days after that.

Look at one day in a life of a mortal being.

One day we cannot choose. 

Life and death are in God's hands.

The most we can plan is the celebration of and the dispensing of worldly possessions, 

including this body we wear now.

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

~Steve Jobs (Stanford commencement speech, 2005)

Life is NOW...let's LIVE!

~L

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?

my so called lifeline

October 4, 2010

My doubt, self doubt, grows exponentially with my silence.  When I tell him that I don’t think I can satisfy him, what am I really saying? Am I asking him for help or asking him to bail?  He’s heard this over and over and it’s ingrained in his thoughts of me.  He says he needs me to tell him what I want. Now.  He needs me to tell him that I want him or that I don’t want him.  That I want to fight for this relationship or that I won’t fight for it.  He wants and needs to hear me include myself in the fixing of this partnership. Or he needs to hear the alternative.  He wants to stick.  God tells him to.  

I am confused.  I am hurt.  I am sad. I want so many experiences and I don’t feel close to my partner.  Did we ever feel close?  When did we think the same and dream the same dreams?  When did we share our desires?

I know I am growing and exploring who I never got to be.  I have consistently been the work-on-it gal.  But maybe my work hasn’t been for the good of closeness.  Have I been working toward strengthening our togetherness or our separateness?  What are my goals now?  What do I have the capability of working on?  Toward?  What do I want to work on?

Testing my limits by going to school and listening to him doubt that I made the right choice without him.  
Testing my mental health by submitting to illogical expectations of a psychotic boss and resigning before she canned me.  
Testing my self confidence and if he is right about my nursing ability.
Getting blindsided by my own confidence.
Feeling like a fool at the mercy of strangers.  
Falling into similar traps at a job without foundation.  
Exhausting myself to please and push for more and to fit in.
Ignoring the signals of security as I watch the walls crumble around me.
Running away before the explosion begins, setting myself up for self implosion instead.

How did I get here?  Where did I come from?  Why do I think this way?  Where is God?

I have felt lost in the last year or two, crying because I was hurt when he didn’t think well of me.  I recall the times he told me that my way of thinking is wrong, that my way of expressing my thoughts is wrong and inefficient and is not worth his time.  So I shut up.  I stopped expressing myself to him.  I stopped trying to explain myself and where I was coming from and how I felt and what I wanted.  I gave up.  After all, I did not want to hear that the man I loved thought negatively about me.  I did not need him to reinforce my self doubt.  Why put myself in a position where I knew I would hurt?

Our conflicts became broken records of despair and futility.  One negative word or head shake or rolling of the eyes or fuck you,  and I’m gone.  Out the door.  Out of the house.  Out of the city.  Out of my mind. Out of reality.  Out of myself.  This is the truth.  I’ve been living outside of myself.

Depressed enough to give up my license.  Depressed enough to say I’ll work for minimum wage.  Embarrassed enough to tell him he was right about me being a nurse.  Frightened enough to lie to myself and hide from the truth.  Until the sunshine blinded my insecurities for a brief moment of clarity and WTF-ness.

I didn’t want to be Rainey anymore.  Rainey is not taken seriously.  Rainey is a baby and frail and frustrated and fragile.  Rainey doesn’t know how to stand up for herself and speak her thoughts and commit to decisions or make and pursue goals.  I want to grow up and be L.  I want to make my own decisions and speak my mind and joke in public and cheer loudly at the games and talk about passionate subjects and tell my family what I really mean and not take their shit anymore.  That includes him.  No more shit sandwiches.  No more crybaby.  No more sulking in the corner.  No more caring what they think.

And I landed softly.  I landed safely.  I carefully caress my nursing career in the home of mental health.  And I feel confidence anew.  I am a nurse.  I am helping and learning and teaching and growing.  And God is with me.  The dance of life continues in the next room.  Please join us.  Please take off your shoes and get comfortable for this ride.  We welcome you back.  We missed you. Now get to work.

What I believe is truth in this room are lies inside the other room.  How I perform here is different than what I perform there. The train tracks switch in between and my mind does not always follow.  Which way do I turn?  Which way do you want me to turn?

I’m taking my meds.  I’m writing and sorting and releasing stress my way.  My way may be the wrong way.  Wrong for this family.  Wrong for these kids.  Wrong for my parents and his.  

He tells me the way I should do this.  Live.  Relate.  Speak my mind.  Listen.  Form goals and work toward them.  Parent.  Partner.
He suggests and helps when he notices my confusion and frustration.  He advises me to do what he does, because it works for him, has worked since he was a kid, 12 or 13 or 14 years old.  Good for him to be confident in his habits and confident in his patterns and with his goals reached and processes of getting there.  Good for him to rely on consistency.  Good for him to keep him afloat through the dark ages.

When I was 12, 13, 14, I was watching my parents split up for some unknown reason and placing me in the arms of a stranger without skills to know how to relate with him.  Placing me in a different world, switching scenes without telling me I had to follow.  Changing the expectations and allowances of my pre-adolescent hormonally developing mind and soul and heart.

Choices stripped.  Opinions banned.  Extraction from comfortable and forward momentum.  Forced into unknown and unsupported.  Doubted and divided.  Slapped and insulted.  Stifled and censored.  Ignored and injured.  Where am I going?  Where are you taking me?  What am I supposed to do now?  Who is leading me?  Where am I?

And I ran.  Toward acceptance of the negative sort.  From strangers who barely knew me and who I didn’t have to reveal myself. I didn’t have to hold back my passion.  And I flew.  Into trouble and insecurity of the adolescent kind.  The trouble of who do I like and how do I deal and what if I’m rejected?  Trouble of trying to ignore my home life long enough to feel like I could be happy otherwise.  Pretend to like yourself or don’t and pretend others do.  Release and reject.  Revive sanity temporarily.  Act two roles.  Isn’t that what I was taught?  Be someone you’re not in order to survive?  Be what they want you to be in order to be accepted?  In order not to get hit or hurt or doubt yourself more?  
Don’t ask questions. Don’t lead with ideas.  

 
August 8, 2011  (10 months later)

Full circle.  Right back where I started.  I’m at it again.  The last paragraph is my story.  The only one.  The missing link in my lifetime of sorrow.  No rusted links, only shiny like new, strong as ever sharp, cold metal connections, from my ten year old happy-go-lucky fourth grader to my presently fucked up self.  Breaking hearts and taking names by accident.  The accidental tourist of my own life.  45 years take away ten real good ones and 35 links later, I’m the expert avoider.  Just call me super sucka!

Therapist on board.  Not holding back from the fears thrown at me.  I’m taking strikes until my bat makes contact, until I feel the spark of energy, the mass of force pushing me through the motion by the release of weight off my shoulders.  When I watch the homerun ball soar above us all, it’s arch predetermined by my positioning, and see the open sky smiling, I will know. I will know.

And since I have no idea how that Babe Ruth-esque moment will feel, or when clarification will arrive, I’m grounded in my garden dugout, watching weeds pop up out of nowhere and wishing a giant hand will reach down to pull me up too.  

I am the face of vulnerability

Outside, listening to U2 and the competing birdsong.  Winds colder than an hour ago.  No one home but g-dog and the neighbor next door.  Even an entire day of alone has rendered me speechless here.  My paralyzing fear of writing too little to feel relief or too much to scare, has ratcheted up my anxiety.   Yes, I am the face of anxiety.  And depression.  And unsure, unbalanced wife and mother.  This is where I tell the truth, here, in these words and commas and incorrect grammar.  Here in my head I wrestle with what should and what wants to spew.  Word vomit.  Shit sandwich.  Cursing.  Pitying.  Streaming my consciousness until unconsciousness takes lead.  I will burst open soon if I don’t confess.  And confessional in catholic church is not my destination. 

I am not angry today.  I am unsure.  I am the face of avoidance.

So much, too much is happening in my chaotic normalcy.  I thank God for the angel I found called therapist.  Therapist knows me,  instant understanding the first meeting.  She asked to read my blog within the first hour…she’s the first to ask to be let in.  How can this be any easier?  It’s hard.  As I’ve said to my clients while psych nursing, “it may become worse before it gets better,” or something versed more professionally.  You get the picture.  I choose to dive into my past to figure out what in the hell I’ve been believing and if I believe it now.  My investigative cap is on and I’m smoking my pipe.  In order to give myself fully to my husband and daughter and son, I choose to give myself fully to me.  I have heard the objections to rummaging in the attic of childhood and parental influence.  I have listened to the ‘today is now’ crew.  I feel both of you.  I feel like living now.  I just don’t know how…yet.  Foreign to some.  Others in my blog community will understand. 

The niche I’m making for myself as a psychiatric nurse is rewarding and fulfilling and vulnerable.  Vulnerabilities are shining in neon purple behind my eyelids.  My doubts are surfacing through the scum covered pond called denial.   With each client I serve, each story they tell me of abuse, neglect, depression, mania, hallucinations,  family issues, eating issues, med compliance, denial….I hear parts of my stories.  Inevitable.  Not all bad.   Not all hopeless.  I find parts of myself at work.  Lost parts hidden or parts unknown.  I am a medical professional.  People look up to me to lead.  People ask my opinion.  People welcome me into closets full of skeletons.  I am humbled, thankful, proud.  My supervisor and I discussed my performance yesterday and I was offered a raise.  I’m here.  I’m at a fork in the road, at the point on my lifeline labeled ‘career.’   Goal set and reached.  Dreamed and lived.  My idea nurtured into my career.  This is a milestone for me.  A first.  Something people around me doubted until recently.  Doubt, the reason I isolate.  The reason I waiver.  The reason I am anxious. 

When I was a little girl I roamed our safe suburban neighborhood with other children.  I enjoyed my sleep-overs and lunches at neighbor’s and sharing our backyard pool.  I enjoyed family time with brother and sister and parents.  I learned to trust.  My mind holds those first ten years as primary colors and pleasant smells.  I remember conversations had with kids and teachers in elementary school.  I remember memorizing Shel Silverstein and cross-stitching patches for our centennial year quilt.  I remember the time my dad took me to school late because he and mom were arguing.  I remember standing in line to see the principal during lunch recess because I was caught throwing a snowball…I feel the nervousness as I stood in line, fearful of being in trouble, yet ballsy enough to walk out of line and back to class unseen.  I was a good girl.  I was a happy girl.  I wore two braids everyday, my mother’s doing.  I held a house key and unlocked the house after school in fourth grade for little bro.  The round kitchen table hosted family conversations of dad’s business and birthday cakes with marshmallows in the frosting.  I liked my childhood.  I belonged there.  I was happy.  I was me.

Depression found me soon after we moved into a different suburb.  Soon after our parents divorced.  Soon after we became dad and three kids.  Soon after I began questioning.  Soon after hormonal changes and scary new school and being teased for braids and crying at school.  Soon after I became best friends with the cool girl who I thought hated me.  Again a few years later when best friend moved out of state.  Again after stepmother number one and step sister number one moved in.  The colors faded and the aromas unrecognizable.  I don’t blame.  I remember.  I have to remember myself.  I’ve tried to forget and avoid and pretend I’m ok now.  That isn’t working well.  I confess.

I’m grown up and responsible now.  I have an obligation to know myself.  I want to know myself.  When my husband asks me what I want in my life, what I aspire to do, what I feel compelled to accomplish and succeed at and share with him and the kids…I cant answer.  I have not allowed myself to explore these answers.  I have not looked inside for answers.  I have used outside influences to right my wrongs and lead my decisions.  I have followed stronger personalities  toward destinations of their choice.  This must change now.  Thus I seek professional help, remind myself to pop that Zoloft pill each day, write to relieve the pressure, shoot photos to expand my sight line, and close my mouth more often so I may hear more life music.

Wilco and I have a strange relationship, speaking of music.  Their music moves me.  The old stuff, the new stuff, it’s all good.  Poetry in motion.  No matter when I listen to Wilco, no matter what decade the writing, I feel connection.  I’m not obsessed, just impressed.  And thankful for each experience to enjoy other human beings’ talent and creativity.  To know that these men write for and share their innermost thoughts with strangers is comforting for me.  The years they practiced playing their instruments, reading music, composing, fighting personal demons, living relationships, feeling tired after touring and recording and transitioning through personnel changes…and helping little ole me feel happy.  Thank God for creative, compassionate souls. 

My turn to give, create, share, add value.   I am the face of creativity.  Peace.  ~L

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

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.

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.    

aftermath

Four days ago I sent out a proclamation to all my family and very close friends.  You read it too, "just one thing" post.  For some of my family members, this wasn't only an introduction to my recently discovered artistic passions, this manifesto was a warning flag.  I received a few calls and a few interesting questions about my mental health.  They have every right to worry.  They have every right to check up on me.  And I am thankful they did, and hope they do again.

No, I'm not melting down or dipping into the depressive dungeon.  My mind is clear.  No, I'm not taking street drugs, drinking beer with breakfast, collecting razors.  Yes, I am taking my Zoloft and vitamins and herbal supplements.  I'm sleeping, eating, crying, laughing, socializing, and getting outside.  All in a somewhat chaotic balance, but for me, just right.  In other words, I'm OK.

This is all about pulling up my proverbial bootstraps and digging into the fresh dirt around my roots.  Change is good, even if you don't agree with it.  Here's some Q & A that may be of interest:

"Why do you feel the need to share your innermost thoughts with strangers on the internet?"

 ~~Validation.  Encouragement.  Fellowship.  Education.  Opportunity.   Support.

"Why don't you just talk to your family, your friends, a professional?"

~~Please don't assume I'm not.

"You sound angry."

~~Some days I am angry.  Angry is a valid feeling.  But, no, I'm not angry in general.

"Is this another one of your passing phases?"

~~This is me. This excitement is a breakthrough which I explained in "just one thing."  My passion.  No sudden moves to an ashram.  No discard of my nursing skills.  Just a release of expression in writing and photography and my journey of their integration into life as I know it.

"Why did you copy your post to so many family and friends?"

 ~~I am sharing my love with you.  Simple.  This is how I roll.

"Do you realize that some recipients may misinterpret what you communicate?"

 ~~100% I do!  I know we have difference...of opinions, tastes, likes, expectations,  methods, communication, beliefs, values, behaviors, and how we interpret.  All I can say is, if you have a question, ask me.  If you have a concern, call me and we'll talk.  I respect you.

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.

chicago, chagall, and choice

I'm still buzzing with energy from my trip to the big city.

Blogger friend, Serenityville, asked some important questions of her readers:

What do you wish you would do that you're not doing?

What are you doing that you absolutely love?

How have you found your passion, did it come naturally or have you searched for it, like me?

What have you done/seen/read or who have you met that has helped you figure it out?

 ...and these questions could have come straight outa' my brain this weekend as I was walking between skyscrapers with my telephoto lens leading my way.

I wish.  But wishing isn't supposed to be what I do daily.  Wishing is not adult-like or responsible.  I wish anyway.  I dream.  I wonder.  I may be the reincarnation of Alice in her land or Dorothy dancing towards Oz.  Flower child waving her arms at the farm party.  Barefoot and tie dyed.  Eyes closed and inhibitions absent.  Soul and face smiling out loud.  Tears.  

You know that your time is coming round~U2 

 

I love to write.  I love to share here.  I love my family.  I love my friends.  I love meaningful music and poignant poetry.  I love photographing the unexpected.  I love looking through my viewfinder, looking at the beautifully unknown.  I love to read other people.  I love that other people read me.  I love the little things, the details that may go unnoticed unless I write about them.  

I love creating my story...with words and photos and music and poetry.  I love looking out and I love my outlook.  I love changing into what I never thought I could become.  I love that my fingers are moving unconsciously right at this moment.   I love the salty tears that my eyes are trying not to release.  

I love Wilco songs.  

Truth shines from inside of me.  Can you see it?  see me?  all the things that I do?  Some people can.  Some people can't.  

 

I survive.  It's good enough for now.~Wilco

Searching still.  For passions dreamed and passions hidden and passions forgotten.  Some say my mind changes passions as often as my shuffled cd's.  Some say I have none.  Some say passions are unwarranted.  

I say LOOK AT ME, DAMN IT!  I'M ONE BIG GIANT PASSION!

Please don't be afraid.  My passions won't overtake yours.  My passions fill me, not you.  Sparks living inside my mind, passions.  Stars covering my eyelids when I sleep, passions.  Colors of the sky, passions.  My childrens' faces, passion.  Profound, real, true, loving, living...passion.

Oh how I search!  Oh what I've found!   Naturally sequestered passions, hidden from me as I struggled with the knots tied to my mind.  Hobbies begun in childhood.  Likes and dislikes, competing for position.  Puzzle pieces gone missing for years.  And look where I have landed!  In the land of "that's not me."  Think again kiddo.

 When I'm awake enough, I'm gonna' shake it off~Jeff Tweedy 

I wanna' be the sun you hear in your head~U2

I hear all of you.
I hear the truth and it sets me free.  
My truth, and it's not pretty.  My truth is muddy.

Many have influenced the ratio of water and dirt to create my muddy.  Many over these 43 years.  Some recently, some not.  Some willingly, some indirectly.
Books and albums and media and formal educators and informal education.  
All stating their opinions about what my hands should do.  Where my feet should walk.  

Who my heart should love.  
Why I live.

Some side with the leaves.  Some side with the seeds.~Wilco

Figuring it out.  What IT is, remains to be entirely seen.  The last three days IT has been Chicago.  Photography.  Perspective.  Options.  Art.  Architecture.  Sunshine.  Bean. Brother-in-law.  Elevation.  Trains.  Maps.  Mosaics.  Food.  Friend.  Fun.  Firsts.

 

I like.  I want.  I wish.  I am.