Doing What I Like Because I Like Doing It

This past year, 2019, didn’t necessarily go in the direction I expected. I can’t say I am disappointed. I never set any New Year’s resolutions, so there’s no reason to feel guilty about what I didn’t do. Of course, being a writer and an artist, there’s always the hope for publication and sales, however, I pretty much let the year roll along doing whatever came along to catch my fancy (lots of gardening this past summer.)

One set of thinking carried throughout the year regarding my paintings, though. If I’m working on living wholeheartedly and striving to remain true to myself, what does this mean in selling my work? Marketing and self-promoting are fingernails on a blackboard to me. My entire soul cringes and I want to crawl in a hole.

Thankfully, I had quite a few opportunities to exhibit in 2019, for which I am very grateful. It brings me much joy to receive positive feedback on my hard work and whenever one of my creative babies goes to a new home, I am so happy.

What gets my mind in a tizzy is I love my work and I’m happy to share it, but what do I do as the artwork piles up? I love doing the creative work; painting and writing about painting!

When I first moved here four years ago, I threw away a lot of my framed charcoal drawings because I just don’t have the room to store them. Yes, there were tears, but I can’t save anything. The worse part was the expense of the professional framing. But, how can I not frame when the double matting and framing make the pieces look amazing?

Now my house is filling up with many pastel paintings, some matted and framed, and others just piled in a box. I’m running out of wall space to hang the pictures. I’m told if I don’t market correctly, I’ll never sell, but the thought of doing that kind of work makes me want to throw a little girl temper tantrum, “I don’ wanna!” Stomp, stomp, stomp!

Part of me doesn’t care if I sell. Oh, I want it to sell. Supplies are costly. I’ve even tried looking at the marketing as part of the creativity, but it just makes me want to cry. That’s not the type of creativity I want to do, and it takes time away from what I really want to be doing. I’m just not willing to do go through all the legwork to make it happen. It’s quite a dilemma.

For now, to live a creative, wholehearted life and be true to myself, I’ll continue to do my art as long as I can afford it, and I’ll do shows when opportunities present themselves.

Telling a Story with my Paintings

Recent readings again brought up the topic of artists saying their paintings tell a story. My paintings do set a mood, an emotion, but I never thought about them telling a story, and yet, I’ve heard people make such comments.

For weeks this concept has periodically invaded my thoughts. How do I feel about this and what can I write about it? First thought was I don't want to project my story about the painting onto the viewers. I want the viewers to feel their own stories, which might be different for each person.

For instance, the very first charcoal drawing I did, which sold, the buyer saying the scene reminded him of a favorite fishing spot. So, it doesn’t have to be a long story, but a fond memory. I did an exhibit last year and viewers were trying to guess where exactly the scenes were from – which elicited conversation and memories.

I love for my drawings and paintings to do this. I enjoy hearing people experience the feeling the scenes suggest. I’m happy the scenes cause people to stop and reflect, and I love when people say how the scene reminds them of some special occasion or brings a good memory.

Wait a minute, though, I do have a story to tell, too! Isn't that why I'm doing the timelines? Why can’t there be multiple stories? One story is the emotion the scene triggers. Then there's my story of creating the painting. Then there are the stories that come to viewers’ minds as they look at the painting.

But just as I never use an exact location name in the titles because I want people to have their own experience, I don’t want my story to influence their encounter.  (Because the exact place might not be what they see, and a name could alter their reaction.) This means I need to find a way or a place to also tell my story. Hmm …

This brings me back to the timelines. I write about the painting process and the challenges I overcome. Maybe I could take it further back and talk about what drew my attention to the scene or photograph in the first place.

Oh, now I have another reason to be excited in my work! After all, for me, writing and painting intersperse with who I am.

So, 2020 is getting off to a rip-roaring start creativity-wise and it hasn’t even made it to the new year yet! But I’m off and running with great ideas and inspiration.

Another Learning Curve

Good Morning, Everyone,

I’m trying something different with my blogs. Sometimes the words seem to come more easily when I “talk” to someone. So, I’m trying this one like an old- fashioned letter or an email.

The water in the brook gushes down over the smaller rocks between ice canyons formed on the tops and sides of the big boulders. In areas where the brook terrain flattens out a bit, the water flows under ice shelves extending outward from the banking. Ice on the bigger rocks in the middle look like alien life forms or irregularly shaped flying saucers. I keep expecting to see them moving upriver … but of course, they’re really rocks and are stationary.

In between planning 2020 updates to my website, I want to keep painting. Yesterday’s art endeavor was using a tracer/projector for the first time. I bought it because in sketching my initial lines on a bigger paper freehand, I don’t always get the perspectives correct. I figured if I can get a few of those first lines and bigger shapes onto the paper, there will be less frustration of getting partway into the painting and realizing I have the perspectives off (which happens often no matter how many times I stand back and look and causing me to wipe down and/or erase.) Tracing will also let me enjoy the painting and work I like to do.

The afternoon seemed a dark enough day, but this didn’t make the attempt easy. I struggled to get the photo to line up straight under the tracer. I struggled to get the tracer to project the image onto the easel board … let alone getting a clear image.

Then I realized the entire image didn’t project which meant having to do it in two steps. And that meant having to go through the whole process of trying to get the new image sections to line up with what was already there. Arrghh!

It was messy. It wasn’t perfect, but I have the beginnings of four paintings started. That’s exciting. It doesn’t have to be perfect because I’ll fix it all up as I paint. The next step is to figure out which one to work on first. I can’t wait to get in the studio this afternoon!

Enjoy the day, my friends,

Sasha

Living a Creative, Wholehearted Life

Sometimes you come across a book in which some of the chapters make you feel the author is kind of writing about you. This is happening to me in the latest book I’m reading. How did she know?

I’m always surprised and pleased to read others who experience similar challenges as I, have similar ideas and beliefs, who believe in finding their own way, and dare to not follow the sheep.

Elizabeth Gilbert, in her book “Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear,” talks about living creatively. I’m already working on living wholeheartedly, but being an artist and writer, I’ve been keeping personal life writing separate from writing about my art for the past couple of years. Why?

It was along the lines of marketing to specific audiences. After all, isn’t the go-to term “target audience?” It’s feeling I have to do something towards promoting my art as a business. (The whole business plan and all that.) Being told in order to sell my work, I have to market and do all these business-y things I find painful and depressing. And schlepping paintings from one art exhibit to another is exhausting with little reward.

But wait a minute. If my goal is to live wholeheartedly, why do I have to force myself to do something that so goes against me? The marketing process and self-promotion are like fingernails on a blackboard. If I am always talking about being true to myself and honoring myself, do I have to do that? Does it come down to choosing to be true to myself or selling my work?

Perhaps that’s another topic and challenge to deal with. Right now, my mind is caught up living wholeheartedly, living creatively, and how to combine the two concepts?  And why is it two concepts? Why was I seeing them as separate?

I’m still defining what living wholeheartedly means to me. This makes me think about my blogs and how I have them listed by subject. Have I gotten any more readers by separating the topics into one about daily living and the other creativity? No. And if I’m often saying I’m living the life of an artist, why am I keeping two blogs? (Big DUH!) Writing about my creativity IS writing about my life.

Gilbert’s book has come to me at the right time. Her words are another affirmation I am doing what I’m supposed to (for me). And, as always, when I like what someone else says, I adapt it to fit me. I love that about me! Her words are letting me know it’s OK to BE me. I don’t have to be or do it like anybody else! (Unless I choose to.)

Those of us who dare to go our own ways can take comfort in knowing we are not alone. Gilbert calls it being brave. Brene Brown uses the term “daring greatly.” Whatever words we use, choosing the less traveled path always takes courage.

As I go into 2020, I need to go a step further with this. I’m excited. I’m excited the creative muses are back. I’ll continue my work on defining what living a creative, wholehearted life means for me. I’ll continue writing and pastel painting … along with gardening and taking photographs and to whatever life takes me in the moment.

So, today I write about life. Maybe tomorrow I’ll write about art or gardening.   

2019 – The Year of Discombobulation

"Beyond the Birches" pastel painting

The creative fires burned in volcanic proportions as I began my morning writing. I wanted to write and paint, and paint and write. I wanted to write about my painting. I wanted to write about new discoveries in myself and my art as I ready for the new year. I wanted to go in the studio and slap color on the latest painting. I wanted to describe the excitement that fills me at such times.

However, the creative eruption reverberating through my soul was quickly dampened when my attention was interrupted with work, a visit, a long phone conversation with my granddaughter, and kitties wanting attention. (Not that any of that was bad.) Then, I had to eat something, and by then, it was past noon; six hours since I’d come out of the bedroom.

The Muse was gone. (Sigh.) She doesn’t hang around if I’m not paying sole attention to her, and I so wanted to capture the fury while it was raging. I thought with that boiling magma, I’d fully explode if I couldn’t get the words down … but I didn’t get the words down and I didn’t explode. Instead, the lava bubbled up, dribbled over the edge, and quickly cooled. Now I’m left feeling like a busted pinata, the candies (words, ideas, and inspiration) scattered all over the floor. I’m trying to pick up the pieces. I so want that earlier excitement back!

Instead, let me write about “2019: The Year of Discombobulation.” Even though I didn't really make any New Years' Resolutions last January, I still had expectations -- like with art sales, accomplishments, and all that. However, the year has been all over the place.

Not that it's been a bad year. It just didn't go in the direction I imagined -- then again, without set goals, what could I expect? Sometimes I’m just the loose end of a rope flapping in the wind, and the wind can be fierce.

Routines I had set up fell totally apart. It seems every routine I had going into 2019 flew out the window and the ones I tried to set up during the year haven’t fared any better. Yes, I can be very spontaneous and go with the flow, however, I’m now finding interruptions and distractions are the new routine. (Hence, discombobulation.)

Let me catch myself before I fall down the rabbit hole of regrets and look at this from a positive view. Times change. We change. (I had a friend who always used to say, “The only constant in life is change.”) And life certainly does!

One of the biggest, and sometimes most difficult, is the slowing down, not only physically, but mentally. I no longer move as fast as I used to. I need to be more careful when moving so I don’t lose my balance. It takes longer to accomplish tasks and often I can’t finish a project in one go-round. I have to take breaks. Nor am I able to think and process as quickly as before, and I have a hard time understanding people who talk fast, especially with people on the phone.

And thus, this life journey takes another path. I’m exploring the nuances, finding new footing, seeing and hearing with more awareness, more thoughtfulness. The slowing down does that, makes me be more attentive; and in learning to embrace it, I make self-discoveries, which is always interesting.

The practice of living wholeheartedly keeps me on my toes as I work at staying positive as much as I can. And, if I do fall, I’m not letting myself hit bottom. Hmmm, maybe a gentle ebb and flow should be a 2020 goal. Learning to flow better mentally and physically.

Ah, maybe resilience is a word to add to my repertoire, too. Resilience goes with determination. However, I see determination as hard, with more force. Resilience is softer, more giving, more of a strength within the ebb and flow.

As I pass from one year into the next, I intend to enjoy life as much as I can. I continue to find beauty around me. My painting muse has returned and I’m eager to let the creative fires roar. Life is good!

Releasing the Unseen Wounds

Here is another bit of writing that came across my view this week:

We are not meant to stay wounded. We are supposed to move through our tragedies and challenges and to help each other move through the many painful episodes of our lives. By remaining stuck in the power of our wounds, we block our own transformation. We overlook the greater gifts inherent in our wounds – the strength to overcome them and the lessons that we are meant to receive through them. Wounds are the means through which we enter the hearts of other people. They are meant to teach us to become compassionate and wise. – (Caroline Myss, b. 1952)

Hmm, this was interesting and funny as it came to me right after I whined about family and love again. It's important and it's taking me a couple of days for her words to stew inside me. I think I've done pretty good about my woundedness all these years, but sometimes stuff re-surfaces -- unresolved stuff. 

Annette mentioned us being warriors, and yes, warrior is a good term for us. We ARE warriors or we wouldn't have gotten to where we are today!

And there are different kinds of warriors. Just because we didn't go through some of the tragedies experienced by others, what we did and do go through has been traumatic for us. How we deal with it, even when it takes many years, is what matters.

It's not about the wound, but how we handle the scarring and strive to be better. We overcome the hardships. We make the choices to learn; we grow. Keeping quiet and holding secrets inside keep the wounds festering.

I want to work with this aspect of not staying wounded. I'm still not sure where it's going yet. There's a difference between staying wounded and daring to talk about it to show how far we've come and what we've accomplished. Talking about our wounds not only lets it out of us, but how we handle our issues can help others dealing with their own stuff. We have to be careful how we talk about it.

It's important to not come across as complaining, and I hope I don't. But it could easily slide that way. Many people fall into the woe-is-me mentality.

Maybe how we are handling our woundedness is the difference. It's not that we are wounded (we are all wounded in some way), it's the willingness and courage to do the work to heal! Yes, I am wounded, have been wounded, but now I am using my battle scars as badges of strength. Because, I made up my mind I am not going to stay wounded! (Hmmm, where is that statement going to take me?) 

I refuse to let the wounds of past love hinder my growth! Wow, that's a powerful statement for me. Let me put on my warrior shield. 

Oh, I just got a visual. All the warriors had shields, coats of arms. What would mine look like? What would yours? Wouldn't it be cool to design a shield and whenever we started feeling down, we could bring it out, call it up; a personal coat of arms to help remind us who we are and how strong we are?

Mine would have to have a cat on it ... and a hawk ... and a wolf ... and tree ... Wait, can't get elaborate. It has to be simple. Hmmmm ... Unfortunately, this type of design isn't in my artistic expertise. But even thinking to throw up my invisible shield when around others who ... challenge me ...

A good thing is I pretty much know who I am. I see the past ... failures ... not really as a failure at love, but as a strengthening of who I am, what I'm willing to compromise at/for ... again, I'm working on this ... and with love and compromise ... hmmm, not sure I am ever willing to compromise ME again.

Wait! I should say, "I AM NOT willing to compromise ME again!" And if this means I'll have to live alone for the rest of my life (except for a kitty), then I'm OK with that.

Once more I feel I'm on the tip of a revelation, but it's not quite there yet. There's something else. I'm looking for one more piece of gold. It'll come. I feel good.

Redefining Words and Terms to Fit Me

The sky is lighter today and I see hints of pale blue in the small patch seen through the trees from my seat. Soft little snow flurries are floating down. The brook's waters are a dark meandering strip with light bouncing on the ripples flowing between mounds of white covered rocks and banks which look like alien creatures making their way up brook against the current.

Gail mentioned sadness ghosts -- I like that term! It fits. Sadness haunts my memories as I constantly hold back from the guilt of not being a better mother. Maybe this is something telling us we really did OK ... because many of us do feel we weren't better parents.

Maybe it's all part of our universal lessons. What do we do with our not-so-goods? Do we throw our lives away in addictions? Do we get out of bad situations and make a better life for ourselves and help others? How many people succumb to the other side?  

What if we looked at the word "mother" and redefined it for us personally to know we are OK, we did OK. What if our job was to raise the kids just as we did, then it was up to them to set sail for their own lives. Our life then becomes doing what we did and do. 

Redefining certain words and phrases to fit the meaning for me is something I've been doing for a couple years. After all, why must other people's interpretations pertain to me? This is not a one-size-fits-all world. I AM Me and I don't have to be exactly like anyone else. (I think I always knew this inside which is why I always struggled around others.)

I read and hear things and then let it all stew as my being creates meaning for me. 

For instance, learning to understand what brings me joy is not necessarily what others see as joy.

I love the term wholehearted living and I’m designing the concept for me. I came across the term "sufficiency" last week -- which I know what sufficient means, but sufficiency? Somehow it feels important. I don't quite have this one yet.

"Daring greatly" is another term I've adopted and making work for me. So often throughout my life, I've dared greatly, and never realized just how much stepping away from the box meant.

The quest to define my life and beliefs continues. Sometimes it’s just changing the words around, so they better speak to me. I’m growing stronger and happier at living wholeheartedly.

The Price I Pay to be Me

Sometimes in trying to find my own way, my thoughts go down unusual roads. These ramblings are not a faulting of anyone or anything. My intent is always to be the best person I can be, but I also have to BE me.

 There are many kinds of people in the world. We can’t all be the same. This is just the journey I follow in learning to understand and accept who I am while trying to resolve issues and heal emotional wounds so I can live more wholeheartedly.

The holiday season rolls around and once more I am teary. If I get what I want for the holidays – to be alone, to not stress over what to buy or what to bring, to not have to go anywhere or be anything other than what I am in the moment – why do I still cry during the holiday season?

I thought I was beyond this. I was fine right up to yesterday, Thanksgiving Day. Am I pretty much living the life I want? So, why do I get over emotional and sad?

Times have changed. Situations changed. I’ve changed. There’s no going back, nor would I want to. So, what’s the matter with me?

I felt I had a big hole in me from which my life energy drained. I had to stop the leakage. Unfortunately, plugging the hole also blocked out family. I know, it sounds like a terrible thing to say. After all, family IS everything, and I truly, truly, truly LOVE my family. So, why do I feel this way?

I first recognized it with my mum. My mum was everything to me, my rock, my anchor, yet, I always felt I had to set up kind of barrier around me to protect myself. Not from her physically, but there was something energy-wise I felt she pulled from me. It wasn’t intentional. She wanted the best for me. It’s just there was some tie between us which grew more pronounced as she aged and struggled to hold on to life … like she was trying to live through me (as long as what I was doing met with her approval, and often she didn’t approve, which I felt.) But I loved her so much!

Then I look back further in my life, to my childhood and the feeling others always wanted something from me, something I found it hard to give, that I couldn’t give. It was like I had to give up being me to be the one they all wanted me to be: parents, sibling, relatives, teachers, peers, lovers. I had to give up me to be liked …

And I never felt I was really liked in spite of that. I was always left feeling inadequate. I was never enough. I felt I was never allowed to be the real me! Maybe I just didn’t know how, always feeling others knew better than I.

Do I suffer guilt? Hell, yes, that’s probably a good part of it! I never feel I am good enough through other people’s eyes. But I’m much better than I was! I am striving to make sure I am good enough in my eyes … until the holidays roll around or I’m missing talking to family. Then I start feeling inadequate again to their eyes.

And, what about my sons and grandchildren? I can’t even find words. I love them dearly, but to be with them, while I enjoy it immensely, something flattens me, empties me. I feel like a muddy puddle drying up around the edges. Again, I don’t feel I can be me; something holds me back.

Sometimes I don’t feel they really care about ME. But I know that’s not true! I know they love me … but I don’t know if they truly know me, or if they are disappointed in me and see me as someone who should be a better mother and grandmother. Again, my fears and inadequacies kick in.

It’s not about them. It’s about me and my issues, my fears. Sometimes, when it comes to love, I’m all messed up. Maybe I don’t really know how to love. Maybe I’ve been hurt so many times by love, I’ve given up on love … but that’s another subject.

Living Wholeheartedly: Further Defining What It Means for Me

I came across the term “wholehearted living” from reading Brene Brown’s “The Gift of Imperfection.” Those two words spoke volumes, not in actual words, but in how the term reverberated through my soul. A fire was lit. This was it! This is what I’ve been working towards all along, and I grabbed onto that concept as if it was lifeline.

What first popped up in my mind were words about being a better person, such as: honesty, integrity, kindness, honor, gentle but strong; those qualities that define a good, kind person. Words I feel are important for living a good life. Ideals I want and believe I am. But it’s so much more …

And once I became aware, it began slowly working within me all the time. I’d catch myself in times of stress asking myself how I can live more wholeheartedly. I’d catch myself going down the rabbit holes of frustration and despair, but then those words would ring in my brain and I’d pull myself out. Live wholeheartedly!

I find I’m laughing at myself over certain situations. I’ve never done that before! Things that would upset me for days I am now seeing them in a different light. I’m able to re-look at how I’m reacting, reminding myself to live wholeheartedly and going over the few key words as to what living wholeheartedly means for me.

As time goes on, the life lessons and self-work continue to evolve. Life isn’t reading a chapter, taking a test and being done with it. Life constantly deals out lessons and challenges. It’s a continuing education. So, what does it mean to me to live a wholehearted life?

Wholehearted living does not have a how-to formula. It’s not something with specific steps, not a one-size-fits-all; our lives are not cookie cutters. It’s not about copying Brown’s work into my lifestyle because we live totally different lives. It’s about taking her basic concept and reforming it to my life – mentally and spiritually. Yes, some things ring true, but other aspects I need to change around and put my words to it.

I’m developing my own definitions to fit me at this stage of my life. It’s not about setting my beliefs as gospel for anyone else. It’s taking the concepts resonating in me and turning them into assets for my life.

I am choosing how I want to live my life and I’m “daring greatly” (another term Brown uses) to talk about it. I’m sharing my experience in how I’m finding my way in this world. I write about coping with life issues; not as a sob-woe-is-me story, but to share how I deal with the challenges and how I’m always striving to be a better person … not to prove something to others, but to live the most wholehearted life I can.

I think about what living wholeheartedly means, and beyond those first words I mentioned above are peacefulness, calmness, patience, resilience, doing the best I can, goodness and determination. There are also the clichés of going with the flow and finding balance. But I also consider: Taking the time to ask for Divine help/guidance; being true to self; allowing for imperfection; looking for joy and beauty every day; loving when I can and forgiving when I can, setting boundaries.

Creating boundaries is a bit of a toughie, but necessary for someone empathetic. Setting boundaries for me means cutting myself of from negativity/anger; not falling into media hype traps and avoiding people/corporations trying to sell me the next best thing.

Setting boundaries doesn’t mean cutting myself off from the world – although I am consciously doing so in many cases. It doesn’t mean I don’t have compassion. It’s about choosing what I can comfortably allow into my life. It’s about changing what I’m thinking about the minute I start falling into despair by some negative comment or event. 

It’s still a work in progress. I’m sure other aspects will surface, and I’ll make adjustments.

What does/would it mean to you to live wholeheartedly?

Fear and Wholehearted Living

I contemplate the growing ice changes in the brook. What was a slim layer allowing the dark color of the water show through a couple days ago is now thick, ridged white shelves formed around rocks and along the brook’s edges. I find it hard to stop looking. I’m fascinated by all the curves and textures.

I came across this blog I’d started awhile ago and decided to finish it. It’s still appropriate …

I was hit with such a huge wave of fear I started crying. It came from a culmination of all the negativity on Facebook and news reports on TV, radio, and in the papers. It came from trying to do the right thing and allow people’s freedom of speech and getting slammed for it because some people took offense. It came from the media pushing the panic button over everything and anything.

It’s a fear that people can’t say anything anymore without someone else taking offense and going off the deep end. Any little piece of information is too easily taken out of context and blown all out of proportion. Has a fear drug or something been put in the, air, water, or food making friends turn against friend and neighbor against neighbor? What happened to hearing more than one side of a story?

I sat here with tears falling feeling like I want to isolate myself even more. I want to build a moat around my house. I’m afraid to say anything for fear others are going to jump down my throat if my beliefs differ from theirs. I try to avoid the negativity, anger, and hate as much as I can, but it seeps in. It’s hard to get away from it when it’s all anyone talks about. I’m afraid with the escalating drug problems and violence we are doomed as a people. It’s like the world, and now this country, has gone crazy.

But through the tears and fears came thoughts and questions. Yes, part of this stirred up issues from the past; fears at being ridiculed as a kid, being put down and made to feel none of my opinions ever mattered, and that I was stupid. However, while those old fears were triggered, I am not there now, and this is different.

I used to feel safe, especially here in New Hampshire. All the really horrible stuff happened in other countries, or, at least, in the bigger cities like Boston, New York, or Los Angeles. I believed in the United States fairy tale we were the best, strongest, and right. That is not so much the case anymore and maybe it never was. There have always been issues.

I believed all the wars and really bad stuff happened elsewhere. We were safe here, for the most part. Perhaps I should admit we’ve not always been as good as our history books portray. Look what happened to Native Americans, for instance, and with slavery. And we’ve had our share of wars and conflicts. (But this will be another topic to cover.)

So, how can I look at this logically now that I am practicing wholehearted living?

The first thing I have to do is pull myself away from my initial reaction; do the “Sleep on it.” I can think more clearly once my emotions calm … and if it’s too upsetting and nothing really pertaining to me, I have to STOP thinking about it! (Sometimes very difficult to do.)

I need to know when to walk away, not allow myself to fall down the hole of despair. I ask people to change the subject and if they can’t, I leave. I refuse to buy into the hype; the what I feel is harassment by the media. I wall off the fear and build a virtual moat around myself and home.

I change my thinking by working on a project. I’ll do something physical like paint or go outside. I’ll write, read, talk to someone with whom I can discuss anything.

Living wholeheartedly calls me back into the balance, goodness and peace that comforts me.

Enjoying a Favorite Meal

Ice forms around rocks in the brook just above the water level making ice ledges and chandelier-like crystals. Water continues to flow under the ledges. My current view is looking through the balusters of the deck railing. When it warms up a little more, I'll go out for photos. I did take photos of the moon last night and before it got light this morning.

The crows are extraordinarily busy today. I’m not sure what they are doing. I don’t usually see them like this. Pele spent about an hour up on the table beside me watching them, too. Then the gray rats came, a couple of blue jays, and a morning dove which I chase away from the deck.

I put out a suet for the woodpecker and the little birds, chickadees, nuthatches, titmice, cardinals, and gold finches are here after the seed I threw out on the deck.

Those who know me know I have issues with food. I’m probably not the strangest eater around, but I certainly have my ups and downs with food. I do not eat healthy and probably never will. I don’t go in for all those healthy fads.

One habit is I go for long periods without eating, then will eat too much or grab whatever is handy. I’m just too busy (or lazy, however you want to look at it) to do the prep and cooking. I don’t mind clean up, but all that other is just too time consuming.

I am trying to be a little better. However, there are a couple of foods where I can easily eat myself sick. One is tiramisu and the other is shepherd’s pie. Simple shepherd’s pie: mashed white potato with milk and butter, peas, corn, ground beef, salt and pepper.

I love, love shepherd’s pie and it’s even more special when I don’t have to cook it! It’s not that I can’t cook, I just don’t like or want to. Today I had such an opportunity. My neighbor, Andy, loves to cook and the other day we went to the store and got the ingredients. I buy, he cooks. It works for the both of us.

Today he made an amazing shepherd’s pie and yeah, I ate too much. I couldn’t help it, and now I’m stuffed and won’t need to eat anything else tonight! I was doing the happy chair dance as I ate … and I have enough for the next couple of days. Simple comfort food.

I never used to talk too much about what I eat. There’s always that shame factor, those who are quick to pooh-pooh my meal choices. Now, however, I want to be OK with what I eat and the choices I make. Living wholeheartedly teaches me to celebrate who I am, the imperfections along with the joys. It’s who I am and there’s nothing wrong with it – as long as I am happy and working towards a greater good for myself.

Committing and Focusing

Friday morning leaves still remaining on the trees were being ripped off in the fierce wind. Some piled in a thick layer covering the deck. Cardinals, chickadees, nuthatches, and titmice scratched through the accumulation to pick through the couple handfuls of seed I tossed out.

The lights occasionally blinked off and on during the day as I worked on this week’s newspaper edition. Acorns smacked hard on roof and deck making me jump every time and scattering the birds. Branches plopped down and scratched at the side of the house. Eerie shadows reflected in the sunlight through a window in ghostly images dancing against an inside wall.

I have so much stuff to write about ... but to write, I need to allow enough time for the thinking. I get a little spark, an idea, a sentence or paragraph. My attention keeps getting interrupted, and unless I keep working, the spark dies and turns into a cold ember. Hmmm, this is something to think about.

The butterfly bounce (what I call jumping from project to project before finishing previous ones) doesn't allow time needed to nurture the flames of creativity. Butterfly bounce fires tend to be chaotic flash fires which quickly burn out when my attention is grabbed by a different project idea leaving me feeling unfinished, like there's a hole in me.

My favorite poet, David Whyte, once said, “The world will pay attention to you, if you pay attention to it.”

I feel that way about creativity; whether I am writing a poem, doing a pastel painting or working on a book, photographs, or gardening. Paying attention to the project at hand becomes a two-way street. Focus narrows and, even though I can be excited about what I’m doing, that concentration opens a connection.

Divine Presence comes during these moments as whatever I’m working on pays attention back to me. The excitement mingles with a sense of peace and love inviting unseen help (angels, muses, etc.) Words and ideas flow, and I am filled with joy.

So, what does this mean?

Distractions and bouncing from project to project is hectic. If I'm continually scattered with a myriad of things going on all at once, that doesn't allow me to be quiet and get the help from The Divine. I get frustrated with too much going on. My stress level rises which allows self-doubt and negativity to creep in.

The lesson: If I let myself calm down and ask for help to get through it all, magic happens (at least it’s magic to me.) Here’s some of what I’m doing to slow my mind and stop the hectic butterfly bounce:

This revelation has me revamping my studio to not allow myself to get caught up in too many projects at the same time. (I had four easels set up with four different paintings in various stages.)

I’m taking the time to relax and let my mind calm down. (When my mind explodes with multiple ideas, I’ll take a couple notes and let others go.)

I’m putting some projects on hold – I don’t have to do everything now … and I’m not going to let myself feel guilty about it.

I’m not allowing myself to keep thinking about what I’m not getting done and focusing only on the now. Already I feel less stress.

I’m going to calmly focus on the projects I choose to work on and commit to finishing them before starting more.

I make these decisions to help me in my quest to live wholeheartedly doing the best I can with joy and love.

Life as a Card Game

An email in my inbox this morning set my thinking wheels spinning once more. My best friend just spent a couple days in the hospital again and my mind wondered about this life we live and the challenges we all have to work through. Are life issues random? Why do some people deal with one set of issues and others something else?

Speaking about dealing, life is certainly like playing a card game – more like a blind man’s bluff type of game because we don’t even know what specific game we’re playing. We’re not all playing the exact same game or maybe even by the same rules. It’s just the game of living a human life.

We’re randomly dealt cards and it’s up to us to choose how we play the game. We draw new cards not knowing what will come up, then need to figure out how to use the new cards with the ones we already have. Which ones will we or can we discard?

We don’t all react the same or play the same. There may be similarities, however with so many variations – not just with the cards themselves, but with our own individual lives – we can only play the game as best we can.

Some people believe we choose our lives before we’re born. Some believe God governs our lives. Some even believe God manipulates us as if playing a game of chess. Some … well, I don’t know what they believe.

Does that answer the randomness of who gets dealt what kind of life? And if I get the queen of hearts, will I play that card the same way as someone else? And too, maybe the meaning of the ten of spades isn’t the same for everyone, so not only do we have to play the game, we have to figure out for ourselves what each card means.

Hmm, what card will I draw next? Which one will you draw?

Ach! All this makes the game more complicated. I’m going to continue with the hands I’m dealt, place my bets as I deem fit, and do my best to live lovingly and wholeheartedly.

Another Aspect in Living a Wholehearted Life

There's still bright yellow in remaining leaves to add a brilliance to the overcast morning. Here is it going on 9 a.m. and it's still dreary-dark. I've just now finished my morning pages, later than usual and six pages! A lot went on yesterday, and this morning the fire is lit over some reading I did last night in “The Gifts of Imperfection” by Brene Brown. I have to share, even before buckling down to this week’s newspaper work.

I only spent maybe 10-15 minutes in reading and jotting down a few notes. I'm always amazed when I read something I've read before, but this time, the spark ignited the tinder and the flames roared.

So, the chapter title of last night's reading was "The Things That Get in the Way." And Brown talks about times in her life she faltered and fell on her face, times when she was imperfect -- in front of audiences. 

Here is what she said is the bottom line to living wholeheartedly (which was a big revelation for her and really stands out for me, too): 

"If we want to live and love with our whole hearts, and if we want to engage with the world from a place of worthiness, we have to talk about things that get in the way -- especially shame, fear, and vulnerability." – Brene Brown

She said it's not a how-to and it's not listing 10 easy steps/tips for a better life. There are no shortcuts; shortcuts are seductive. We have to slog through, not live, the swamps (of our lives). And this reminded me of her quoting Teddy Roosevelt's arena speech in another book: 

The following is known as the “The Man in the Arena” and an excerpt from the “Citizenship in a Republic” speech given by Theodore Roosevelt at the Sorbonne, Paris, France on April 23, 1910.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

This is the most meaningful piece of writing I think I've ever read! It always brings tears. Because we DO have to get in the arena! We get dirty and we make mistakes. We have to slog through the swamp to live wholeheartedly, with love, compassion, openness – and our imperfections. It's not about famous people. It's about us, every day people trying to live a good life, an honest life with integrity, and doing the best we can. There are no quick and easy steps.

What I also realized last night, was this is what I've been trying to do in my writings and conversations. Stories let people know we are not alone in our struggles. Stories are not happily-ever-afters – which may seem so for a short time, but life is life. Maybe the Buddhists are right; life is a struggle.

But we don't have to let the struggles get us down ... or keep us down. That doesn’t mean we can’t live good, happy-for-the-most-part lives. We find the strength to get up when we slip in the mud and fall flat on our faces. We dust off our clothes, put ointment on bruises, shake off the pain, and move on. We do what we can and ask for help when we need to. We figure things out. And make time to enjoy breaks, look at the beauty around us, love ... 

We can tell our truths and don't have to pretend life is perfect, that everything is hunky-dory. We can look our shame, despair, fear, and vulnerabilities in the face and say, "I can be better! I am not defeated! I intend to live life fully and wholeheartedly!" And stand tall while saying it!

Also, telling our true stories is not a woe-is-me. It's that, when we are not telling our true stories, we are hiding issues which gives them power over us. It's holding secrets (the secret of shame, fear, vulnerability) which then silently eats away at our souls. Talking things out brings light to those dark places and releases us.

Yeah, sometimes we need to tell the story more than once, but if we're doing it with the intent to heal ourselves and live a wholehearted life, we are climbing the ladder out of our dark wells. Telling our stories releases those things that get in the way; the things that hold us back from living a wholehearted, balanced life.

Sharing stories connects us to others also striving to live better lives. We are not alone and when we share connection, we help one another and help make our communities and the world a better place.

This Thing Called Love

There’s less leaves and the colors are fading. The dark brook water shimmers with pale blue light as it wends it way between the rocks and forms a pool within my sight. It’s cold this morning and by 8:30 a.m., the thermometer has not yet reached 40 degrees.

I put on painting clothes this morning figuring this afternoon should be warm enough to finish painting the new garage steps. This might be the last day of fairly warm weather until spring.

Leo, the cat, came by while it was still dark, just before 7. I couldn’t see him, but he reaches out and rattles the screen to the sliding door when he wants in. He ate the breakfast Pele hadn’t finished, then asked to go back out, his tail spotted with burrs. (I don’t know from what, they’re flattish … almost reminding me of a black forked tongue of a snake.

Yesterday I got on the topic of love again. Every so often I go through this and it’s an issue I struggle with. (Maybe it’s from living alone.) This go ‘round with the subject came after reading a section from “The Gifts of Imperfection” by Brene Brown.

I’ve read this book before, but evidently, I haven’t done the self-work needed to move past the heartache of past loves. I like myself and I’m happy with where I am in my life, but can I say I love myself? Have I been so wounded by love in the past that I will never dare love again?

Gosh, just writing about this makes my gut cringe with fear. Fear?

Brown says, “If we want to fully experience love and belonging, we must believe we are worthy of love and belonging.”

Do I not believe I’m worthy? Is there a gremlin inside whispering I’ve failed so many times I should hold back and never love again?

The answers do not come easy. It can be very confusing. Love is complicated because there are so many nuances of love. There’s the love for mate/spouse, love for family, friends, and pets. And, look at how many things we can love – and with passion: music, nature, art, books, etc. That one word, LOVE, encompasses so much!

Should love of self be up front? Many believe if you don’t love yourself, how can you fully others? Can I love myself? And if I can’t say I love myself, can I really love others?

I love my family. I love my friends. I love lots of things, but do I FEEL loved? Ahhh, maybe this is the crux of the matter. Logically, I know they love me, but do I feel the love in my heart, in my whole being? Ah, here’s the dilemma. When I don’t feel loved is when I feel lonely.

Which sometimes doesn’t make sense. For instance, yesterday I went to breakfast with an artist friend and we had the most wonderful conversations covering many topics. Later I had conversation with others, so why did I sit here feeling lonely?

I thought about how easy it is to let the words, “Love you,” roll off your tongue or typed at the end of an email or letter. Yes, I love them, but how often is it said putting feeling into the meaning?

It reminds me when you ask someone how they are and they reply, “Fine.” How are you and fine are just words in greeting and too often have no real caring by the asking and response. When you ask, do you really CARE how the other feels? I do, but I also realize how easily these words slip out just to be said.

Saying “Love you” (or “Love you, too” as a response) can have the same feel. It’s something you’re supposed to say to those you love. And we have to say it because it’s important to let those you love, know you love them … though we probably don’t say it to friends, and yet, we do love them.

So, what does all this mean? I’m not 100% sure yet, but it’s something to think about.

I know one thing that holds me back is the sexual side of love, and sex isn’t anything I ever care about again. I have men friends who I love – as I love my women friends – as friends. But I could never say that. Plus, there’s that old stickler of “neighbors will talk.”

Oh gosh, this gives me a chuckle and goes back to my unmarried uncle years ago being nervous when my mum and aunt visited for fear the neighbors would talk about him having women in his house – even though they were his sisters.

Thank you for listening. It helps me sort through life as I strive to live wholeheartedly. Maybe the situation isn’t as complicated as I’m making it. But I feel there’s something missing in me. It’s probably love – maybe I need to fully let it in to feel it – and I’ve forgotten how to do that. And trust I can be loved with no strings attached.

Another hour has passed, and the thermometer now reads over 40 degrees. The titmice, chickadees, and cardinals are searching the deck for seeds. Guess it’s time to put up the feeders – I LOVE my little birdies!