Creative Being

Thinking about Things

When I was a young newlywed, my husband and I decided to buy a new car for me to drive. I knew the model I wanted. I picked out the color. I picked out all the features I wanted. Then we put the order in and waited. For some reason, at that time, we chose to do that rather than taking something off the lot. It took about three months for my car to be delivered to the car dealership. I had three months of happily anticipating my first new car ever.

The car came and my husband drove me to pick it up. It was exactly like I had imagined. It was just what I wanted and believe me, I was happy to be done with my old car. I got in my new, perfect, just-as-I-had-requested car and began the drive home.

That was when I realized that having a new thing, didn't particulary change my happiness level. I had the car and I was simply driving it home. In itself, it wasn't making me one bit happier. I was still me. I still had all the me stuff going on that had been going on before. Yes, I appreciated my new ride, but I still remember the distinct feeling of a let down, of realizing that having something new really didn't change anything.

Trial by Fire

About two months ago, a string of events that could be called "bad" or "negative" began happening in my life. It lasted about a month.  I don't know why, but the successful navigation of these types of situations seems to have a positive effect. Like I come out on the other side and I'm stronger and more sure of myself.

Remembering

Today I am celebrating the birth of my first child. This post isn't about her though, it's about remembering the creative artistic part of myself. In my welcome, I mention that at eighteen I put being artistic behind me. Up until that point, it had always been a part of my life. My first semester of college I took a couple of art classes, felt out of my league, and quit making any art, at all, for about fifteen years.

My Tricycle

This is a story that my dad has told me many times. I was two. My dad was recovering from a painful accident and was still at home. One day my mom was going to the store and I wanted to go with her. She preferred to go alone and left in the family car. I wasn't taking no for an answer that day and I hopped on my trusty faded red tricycle and pedalled down the street after her. My dad seeing this, came after me, caught me, and brought me back to my own yard. The decision was made by my parents to build a fence as Dad was in no condition to be running down the street.

I really like the spirit that I must have had as a two-year old. Finding my way back to that two-year old that wouldn't take no for an answer has been a lifelong journey for me. Going beyond fences built by others to hold me in has been a part of that journey.

The great thing about fences is we mostly build them ourselves. It's convenient to blame them on other people but not particularly useful. I've found that the more responsibility I take for the fences that appear to surround me, the easier it is to climb them, open the gate, or even take them down. Sometimes just acknowledging that I've created a fence is enough to make it simply disappear.

Then I can pedal my trike as far as I want.