Wishing to finally say good-bye

I am working on things. Not an art project, not a house project… But a heart project. (That is either no surprise for anyone who still reads this blog OR the bomb that scares people off and sends them running. Because no one likes to be handed a bleeding, rapidly beating heart and be asked to hold it and breathe life into it, constantly.) I have been working on this project for so, very long. It’s like something in me is contorted and twisted. I wish I could paint it out. I wish I could sing it out. If only I could get it out. There are these oozing, aching places… Longings… Deep un-met longings that no human on earth is going to heal… Or fill… or meet… ever. I want someone to heal it, to fill it, to seal it off; keeping me from feeling that ache that goes down to the core and leaves me feeling so, well, sad.

It dwells in my thoughts when I am alone. There is this isolation that seems to be a part of my life. Since childhood, I remember this feeling of loneliness. A feeling of wanting someone who just wants to see me grow into an amazing person.  An aching feeling of needing relationships with people who want to impart their wisdom and invest in me as a person.  And that loneliness, it just goes on and on. Even now, at 35 I find myself left with very few close friends who I don’t have enough contact with… And family, well, the word itself just hurts to say sometimes. And don’t get me wrong, my husband has been a God-send. He has made me stronger in so many ways. And he is my best friend. But getting quality time is so hard. Although, once we have it, it is a place where we feel at home in each other’s hearts.

So, now to get to the good stuff… I read a book called “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years” by a guy named Don Miller. It’s kind of a life changing book. He talks about how each of us has a story and it is up to us to write it out. The choices we make with our lives are ours to make. For instance, the sedentary couch potato is depressed because he has found no purpose. But a person who knows they have power over what is written in their story ends up writing themselves a good story. They also know that nothing on this earth will bring the euphoric peace that can only come in the next life, therefore freeing them of the burden of waiting for it to come along. And that allows them the freedom to make things happen as a collection of moments. Sometimes euphoric moments.

So, I have the keys in my hand so to speak… I am a big girl now and I know what cards I have been dealt.  I know that people aren’t going to come rushing to my side to heal this splintered heart. They aren’t going to encourage me and love me because I am so deserving of it, or even out of guilt. The ugly truth to this sad matter of the heart is that I have to make my life in to what I want it to be… Like any hard working person.  I need to dig deep and find the richness of what life truly is; and spread it around by opening my heart to others, by reaching to them with no expectations no matter how desperately I just want them to come pursuing me.  Our time here on this planet is ours… We decide most of what will come of us… And I am going to write a story of my life… A great story.  One where the relationships in it have quality.  I never wanted to lead my life in to this community I so desperately admire in others lives, I simply just wanted it to be built-in.  But THAT is not the story I was given… I was dealt a different hand.  So, I must live out what I want my story to become.  And one day I will look back and know that I had the power to make my life what I want it to be.

In Process

Life is an endless process of growth.  Growing physically, mentally, and emotionally.  Sometimes we grow backward.  Sometimes we have to get re-nurtured in order to grow-up more.  At least, that is the case with me.  I am on a constant journey of trying to figure out my life… Inside and out.  I seem to want wholeness all the time. “A creature of comfort” could be on my epitaph.  I am realizing, in my maturing mind, how often I seek this place of euphoric rest.  And I have been through stages of seeking this comfort with food, with friends, in my art, in time alone, in spa treatments, in time spent with my husband, in seeing my kids have fun, in controlling things that I feel are being done unjustly.

Side note: once I drove through a crowd gathering for a fight  in a Wendy’s parking lot.  I just wanted the pain, whoever’s pain it was going to be, to be stopped.  And me, in my Dodge Omni, felt invincible (yes, I see the sheer irony in that).  The crowd simply reformed after my attempt to be like Moses and part their sea.  My friend in the car convinced me I could not do anything to help the situation and really shouldn’t ever attempt doing that again.

But back to the comfort thing… Constantly, I try meeting the needs of this little girl who stuffed down her needs for so long…  Who felt that there was too much going on in her house with her siblings and parents to reach out for all she wanted… needed.  And so now, here I am in my thirties finally realizing that my crazy habits of seeking comfort are just to appease this deep down yearning.  The walls set up kept the hurt from happening and keeps anyone from getting too close.  Which leaves me lonely… a lot.  A bitter sense of being left to fend for myself in a tragic and unsafe world.

But now, now, I hear the voice, not just the echo.  I know it’s there loud and clear.  And now the light will shine on it.  And soon all that I poured into soothing me can be poured into others.  Someday, I will be healed.  Someday, I will pass along this goodness to someone who needs to hear it.  Someday, I will arise from the ashes and gaze around at my new world.  Because I survived… And overcame an engulfing storm that hid me in its depths… but didn’t win.

A Boat Painting

I finished a painting the other day.  It was months in the making… Well, sort of.  I had done most of it  in one sitting a while back, but then when I got to the boat I felt really intimidated.  Boats have a certain look.  They are shiny, detailed and at times textured… They breathe somehow.  Their weightless freedom exudes life.  A boat in water is a beckoning of choices.  The mind knows that a boat is detailed and purposeful.  With living things occupying it… most of the time anyway.  It knows that a boat often conjures up ideas of relaxation… freedom… indulgence or at the very leas, a peaceful existence somehow.  But the photo I was painting from locked me into a very strict palette of whites (blue-hued to grey-hued) to work with.  It seemed too technical, and so I froze.  I made excuses not to finish.  I said the paper was warped.  I said the picture was to small to work with. I decided I really didn’t know what a boat looked like to be able to relate enough information between my mind and hands.

But alas, it is finished.  The paper is still warped.  The boat is a bit abstract.  But it is a full-fledged painting.  And I am proud of it.  Astonishment hits me everytime I finish something striking.  I really couldn’t teach someone how to do it.  But it just flows out.  I guess that is why a unique ability is called a “gift”… Because its goodness is so unexpected even to the one who possesses it.

Memories

No, not the song from Cats… But the ones that haunt us… Sometimes in good ways, sometimes not so good. There are times when I want to just go back in time to when things were simple… Easy. Life was uncomplicated with responsibilities. Having fun was par for the course. Time was my own.  Spending time with friends was a given.  Going for a hike in the snow with my best friend (who later became my husband) who let me be me and come alive as a person… And getting lost in the whiteness of the landscape and not caring because even if we never found our way out we at least were together and that was all we needed right then. Looking back I see this journey that just seems so short but I know is full so many changes. Life-sized changes. If time was my own now I would seize moments like that again. I would make life happen… But now I am very familiar with how life has happened to me. It seems like there is always so much to get done. So much to re-do phyiscally (housework, schedules) and to re-do emotionally (meeting the needs of others, sorting through the pain of the past).  Sometimes I just wish that wishes could some true… But I would need an endless supply because I can always think of something else to wish for.  For today, I wish the dishes would do themselves and the vacuuming too.  I would also wish for friends who lived next door.  And I would wish for peace in a heart that feels so much it just seems easier to shut down and feel nothing.  I would wish for the abiltiy to play the piano and sing my heart out and somehow let go of feeling so much at once.  Like I said an endless supply of wishes… I guess what more could be expected in an imperfect world.

Bubbling

What do you do when you feel like all kinds of things are swirling around in your head? You have a load of responsibilities to family and home and work. You have little things that you want to do like read a book, meditate, scrapbook, garden, write a song, or organize your photos, or clean the garage (some people really do enjoy that sort of thing). Then there are the thoughts of what you really wish you were doing… The dream that just bubbles up and reminds you there is so much to who you are and what you are capable of that never gets to come out and become real. Inevitably you simmer that boiling pot back down knowing that there may be a time to pursue it or maybe not. Some people, the lucky ones who know how to play their cards right, get to live their dream. They posses the skills necessary to balance it all out. What are those skills? I am dying to know.
I look at my job as a “homemaker” and think why is this the default setting for women and why are they given so little training on how to do it? I have a house that beckons for attention… dishes, bathrooms, laundry, beds, papers, toys… Then there’s the whole going to the grocery store all the time thing… and planning meals (which I do not do). Then swirled in all of that are these passions. Passions to create, paint, sculpt, sing, act, dance… Just to be really great at something. I am not sure why I want this so badly but I do. It feels like a deep need to be reassured in the gifts that I know are in there and could be a blessing to others while giving me some happiness too. I also have a passion for God. A passion to be giving to others. A passion to see others the way God sees them and know for them to know His love through me. It is a real part of me.
Home and self divide my thoughts, swirling around like to bold colors of paint being dumped into a puddle and taking so long to mix. Make that three colors because I forgot to mention that I am so broken and in need of family and safety and love and friendship. I don’t make friends easily. And I keep them at bay when I do. Why am I so unbalanced in everything?  I feel like I just need someone to hold my hand and tell me how to do everything. And yet if they did all the indepence in me would fight against their suggestions and I would do what I wanted in the end… still broken… still alone… still needy… still just as unsure of myself.
I could find some balance if I just thought ahead and planned but for some reason I do not possess that skill set. There are lots of things I could write about but I seem to fall back on the usual…  me.

Somewhere In Between

It’s late.  I should be sleeping… But my mind is swirling.  Like a broken record, thoughts just keep resurfacing.  This world has sadness.  This world has chaos.  After sin entered the world it was never to be easy for anyone again. But sometimes I really wonder why things turn out the way they do.  Why some people are born into the right family at the right time and given tons of support and meaningful conversation.  While others are born into cruel, violent, unloving ones that live each day leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.   I am somewhere in between… Albeit, that’s a BIG in between.  But life is full of grey areas.  Normal really can’t be completely defined.  Life is fluid and while some things are normal in a situation there are variables that throw the whole thing off balance.  I know, I am not telling anyone, and mostly myself, anything new here.

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Unquenchable Thirsts

(When I started this entry I had no idea where it was going… Then it arrived in the place where my heart wanted to call out… And there it sat until the well was dry.)

There is something creeping over me today.  It feels like a nice dose of emotional swinging.  I feel a little lost inside.  I am intune to that unquenchable feeling of dissatisfaction rising up and starting to irritate me.  I haven’t done much creating lately.  And it is starting to make me crazy.  I want to create but, well, all the excuses in the book keep me from doing it.  The house is never caught up.  Dinner is never planned.  School is never long enough.  And, quite frankly, it is too darn cold!  I could paint, I could draw, I could make jewelry, but my hands are dry and uncomfortable.  I could keep complaining, but that may make my few readers actually stop coming by, so I will stop there.  But art is an unquenchable thirst in me… Always.

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A Doll

Today I watched a little video on Etsy about a doll maker.  I watched it with my daughter.  She is four.  She is an independent creature with a knack for the arts.  Anyway, as we watched I mentioned how “there were many things I would like to create if I just had time.”  Well, she said, “Mom, let’s do it.  Let’s make a craft.  We can make dollies.”  Now, how am supposed to say no to that?  I mean, I had dishes and laundry to do and not to mention dinner to figure out.  So, I said, “Ok, go gather things to make dollies.  Like some stockings and ribbon.”  Well, she wasn’t too keen on gathering the materials alone.  After all, this was project we were going to do together.  So, I walked around the house with her and gathered some of the stuff needed and sat her at the table and told her to start stuffing the stocking.  I stole some time back at the sink to do some of those dishes and she called me back in saying she needed help.  I replied that the dishes were not going to wash themselves.  So, she said, “I can do them.  You make the doll.”  And with that she got a step stool from the bathroom and went to work.  I sat down and stuffed and sewed.  It felt good to be creating something.  She got done two or three dishes and came back thoroughly soaked in the front.  Then she said this, “That job is a bit too wet for me.  I’m back.”  So funny. I love that girl.  Anyway, she cut some fabric for a scarf, shoved in some  more stuffing, and made a necklace with a jewel from a chandelier that was lying in my sewing box. She put a sock on the doll’s head and then she decided it was time for a treat and ate some of the ginger bread house we made before Christmas.  I sweated it out and now we have a doll of sorts.  It was fun.  It needs work still, but I am excited to see its face once we paint it on there.

So, Capria learned a new word today… Inspiration.  And when it hits, it’s hard to say no to it.  :)

Awake

I am awake when I don’t want to be. I have a terrible cold and needed antibiotics. Took the first one before going to bed. Not sure if I am having a reaction but I laid in bed for almost three hours before realizing that I hadn’t actually fallen asleep. My body kept waking up. I had tingling in my hands, feet, lips even. It seemed like my heart rate was low and I was waking up because things were shutting down. I have no idea if that is what was happening but I am up now. Listening to the rain fall steadily harder outside. And soon the power may go out. I am SO not wanting to be awake when the power goes out. I hate it in fact. To top it off I have a pinching feeling in my neck and left shoulder that has been getting worse over the pass three days. I am very much unhappy with the state of affairs my body is in. Thirty-five is not so much fun right now. I feel like my body is nearing eighty instead.

Feelings

I have learned  a bit about who I am in these last few years.  And I feel a lot of things. And I feel them deeply.  Some times I feel so excited about something I want to cry.  Sometimes I feel so sad I want to just throw paint in big splats and make a mess… Symbolic  of what is going on inside.  Sometimes screaming and running with all my might sounds like a good plan to release the emotion inside.  Either way I have learned that I find some sort of comfort in feeling really deep emotion.  Except for anxiety and stress of course… Those things wreak havoc on my body.  Anxiety make me nauseous.  Stress gives me sharp chest pain (probably should get that looked at).

I wish I had oodles of time.  Time to just bust out big canvases and make paintings of all sorts of feelings and moments.  Time to just be quiet and create.  I have time now, but it comes in spurts.  And the few hours I take for the mural each week are becoming addicting.  I want to start make huge paintings on my walls at home.  The feeling of painting something as permanent as a mural is so cathartic.  Now if only I could get paid for it!  I did drop off some  mini oil paintings on mini easels at the Newark Arts Alliance near the Newark Co-op (yep, that’s plug so check it out).  I also drop off a few pairs of snowmen earrings.  It would be nice to make money with what I love to do…  And blessings people with art really is a passion I have.  I would give it all away but I need money for supplies to make more stuff.  All in due time I suppose.

Today is a mural day… Pictures to follow.  Thanks for reading and being interested in my yammering.