Circles

Some self reflection, inspired and encouraged by my mother-in-law. Who says I absolutely need to blog more.

No... (thanks for asking :) ) I haven't been writing much* lately.

Because...

Life moves in circles. Not a straight line.

Or at least it does for me.

You see, I've always pushed myself to produce. I've always felt that my self-worth is tied directly to productivity, to the number of words I punch out on a keyboard every day.

But I'm starting to figure out that maybe, I'm not built that way. My creative outlets and habits circle. The needs of the people I love ebb and flow. It's taken me a long time to admit it, but for me, at this point in my life, fighting to finish that article or next book at all costs feels like fighting against the tide.

The critic in me screams that letting myself enjoy interests other than writing is an excuse; that I'm just putting off getting that next big important writing project done.

The ambitious part of me worries that by listening to the needs of others, or to my own self-care needs, I will be distracted from my dream of one day being an established middle-market author.

But, praise God, I've lived long enough to know that these things are not true. I have proven to myself that I have the patience and tenacity to complete large projects (and do them well) even when they take years. If I could give advice to my younger self, I would tell her to stop fretting so much about "making it" (I believe achieving goals is important, but it is secondary to a life well-lived).

I would tell her to listen to the rhythm of her own creativity. To not think of painting or cooking as a distraction from "real" goals, but to embrace the many pieces of her that make a complete whole.

I would tell her that it's hard to write during canning season.

:)

...

Some of my current and recent summer projects, because I am not, sadly, simply a writing machine:

Pickles, salsa, ketchup, jellies and jam!

Garden grape mint jelly. From my garden, a Christmas favourite.

Some colouring, because it's fun. :)

Crocheted granny square baby blanket. I'm going to be an auntie!

Recycled denim shag rug. To curl on in front of the fire with my little girls, come storm season. <3

*of course I am still writing! That will never go away. :)

Together we are a masterpiece ❤️

A beautiful piece of art from my daughter's​ kindergarten class.

A song for a rainy day. For fun. :)

The Fire in Us: How to be the artist you are meant to be

There is something in us all: a unique fingerprint, an impression that we make as we pass across the earth. In writing we call it your "voice". Everybody has one.

The magic happens when you discover a medium to release this voice inside of you... from pastry to paint, to horseback riding... when your voice is released, true art is made.

Or maybe "spark" is a closer word for what I want to say.

Skill is a thing that can be developed. We study and practice to master the tools of our chosen mediums, but without the spark that expresses who YOU are, the art feels empty, contrived.

Discovering and releasing your spark, creating true and meaningful art... that part is tricky. Picasso is quoted as saying that "Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up."

I've experienced this. I've always loved to paint but somewhere in early high school I met a wonderful girl with a painting talent that I felt I could never match. My jealously gnawed at me. I lost joy in the art that came out of me naturally, and instead of loving and embracing my own spark, I tried to paint like her.

Jealousy, envy, insecurity, even false humility: over the years I have brought these things to my painting pallete. The scars of life convinced me that my love for bright vivid colours, the "swoopy" path my brush seems to take, my love of surreal elements, even my choice of subject matter, all betrayed me as an unskilled pretender. I thought that the thing that lay at the very center of my being: my "spark" must be hidden at all costs.

I fought violently with my art for many years. Painting or drawing brought on migraines so strong that my eyes would blur and I'd begin to see double. Despite this, I'd often push myself, refusing to accept anything that I could imagine as imperfection until I collapsed in pain and frustrated disappointment.

The optometrist couldn't find anything wrong, and despite my secret belief that the coolest thing a person can put on is a pair of glasses, I still have 20/20 vision. :)

Thankfully this year has brought powerful change. Through the persistent encouragement of friends I've found the courage to believe that what I do has worth and is beautiful. I've dared to put aside the crippling criticism in my head and to love the art that I create.

My headaches are gone, my heart is aglow. I have so much to learn about technique (everybody does) but I am learning to accept myself and to love the unique voices we all have to bring to this world. 

Don't be afraid of your spark. If you paint with dots, or write about wizards... our quirks make us awesome.

But. There is something that makes me mad. Whatever industry you may be involved in, please stop a moment and consider... if you feel threatened by someone else's work, if jealousy has infected your soul, as it did mine, consider the harm it does, to your own gift, and... if you let it spill out... to others. Jealousy and it's products: bitterness, insecurity and competition... these are the antithesis of true art.

If your motivation is money... well, trust me, there are easier ways.

If your motivation is fame... you *might* find fame (probably not)... but art built solely on a desire for fame isn't really that great. You are in danger of becoming a clown of history.

And by the way... if you have been hurt by someone else's jealousy. Be brave. Don't stop being you. The jealousy they may feel is a common failing in us all and it blinds them to the magic of their own spark. Take whatever steps you need to to protect yourself from abusive language and behaviour and... show them a better way.

There is such beauty and good to come from honest expression when it is given the space and encouragement to be free. It gives voice to social issues, it is a powerful advocate for justice, it is both overt and subversive, it challenges the very meaning of what it is to be human, it asks the questions we dare not voice aloud. It heals us, soothes us, and calls us to action.

The practice of true art isn't easy. But now I understand; my insecurities don't have to rule me or hold me back. The fire in me is valuable, significant and needs expression.

So does yours.

Yes. You are special. (Some needed love to Millennials)

There has been a lot of 'stuff' trending around the web lately about Millennials... until this point, I stayed quiet and took it. Because I honestly didn't know any better. I swallowed the names with shame: 'privileged', 'lazy', the 'me generation'. Our approach to work, to community, to technology, to politics has been attacked and derided. I've felt attacked over and over again because I was raised 'spoiled', with a hyper-inflated belief in my own potential.

It hurt. I withdrew beneath the weight of these words. They seemed right: I did believe that I was something special, I thought that I could make a difference. But the angry and undeserved rhetoric that I've encountered told me that I needed to stay in my place and keep my mouth shut.

These words often spawn from a clash between generations. I've heard the same clash happened when Generation X grew up beneath the Baby Boomers. One generation didn't understand the next and in many cases reacted with messages of distrust and even hate. It's happening again.

But thankfully, for me, there is an intersection of grace. I mentioned the hurt I was feeling and an older woman took it on herself to tell me that the messages that I was hearing from some of those in her generation were wrong: that they were lies/hurtful names disguised as candor, coming from a place of fear, a feeling of loss of control.

And she told me something else. She gave me a beautiful picture of who my generation really is.

We are kind.
We embrace diversity and tolerance more than any other generation before us.
We are engaged.

We are connected.

We love the wisdom of the generations before us, this is reflected in our trends, our fashion and our music. We embrace concepts of simplicity and authenticity.
We are also a generation of innovation and technology. The conscientious blend of these qualities (a love for the past+a vision for the future) is a critical component for a generation that must stand tall to grapple with enormous global issues.


In a very organic way, I believe that millennials have been well equipped for the task. My friend paid us the enormous compliment of saying that the millennial generation is part of nature's answer to a world out of balance.

Still chewing over that one, but it sure didn't hurt to hear.

Millennials are special. Every one of us. We are ready to overcome the messages of criticism and instead, dare to plumb the depths of our imagination and potential.

Thank you to my older friend, and to those Baby Boomers and Generation Xers who choose to love and nurture rather than to try and dismantle us.

As for the ones who hurt...

Its time to loose the hate and embrace hope instead.

LOVING this song today. :)

Perfection is a Defense Mechanism

or at least... trying very hard to be perfect is.

And I do try. What I think is perfect is different from commercialized ideals of perfection. But I do have a standard... an impossibly high one. the more broken I am inside, the more important it seems to be to act and look perfect on the outside.

I've also learned from experience that I can be hard to read, people often miss the nuances of my mood. I just don't make big gestures and I don't speak loudly... I think that for those who have met me but haven't yet figured out how to read me I can come off cool, intimidating, reserved.

But I'm not. I'm broken. My mind is broken, my identity is broken. My emotions are raw and I just. can't. control them anymore. Sometimes I'm rocking and crying on the floor, sometimes I'm shaking. I feel as if there's a man in the room with a gun and somehow I just have to ignore him and pretend everything is normal. I panic, I struggle to get out of bed. I feel like I can't trust my mind. My very thoughts, emotions and actions are sometimes beyond control and I don't even know why.

I have PTSD.

I'm writing this because of a conversation I had with a friend today around mental health. We discussed how sharing a story helps others talk about their own struggles: how so many people, when they feel safe enough, express feelings of isolation, of loneliness.

So I'm writing this. Because despite what you see, what you might think you see, I'm broken too. Maybe we all are. Like you, I feel alone and afraid. At the moment, the thing that I'm most afraid of is that I won't be accepted for who I really am.

I'm scared of rejection, but I don't want pity. I don't want to be "saved". I want to be loved for who I am right now and to still be considered equal, in thought and ability.

But I'm scared, I've been hurt, I've seen others judged and hurt... so instead: I fight to control the mess, claw for perfection. I'm desperately trying to hold it together...

For 1 more minute, 1 more hour, 1 more day

Until I break again.

High Flying Wings

Last night's recording/songwriting was so fun I just had to record something else. This one is old (for me, new for you!) so it's a bit more together than most of the stuff I post. Still don't know a thing about actually recording though. :P


High Flying Wings

No more trouble O Lord
No more heavy load

And no disrespect but I'd like to collect
on that glory reward that's coming to to me:
A pair of high flying wings

I just don't fit these clothes
Shoes got to tight on me
And I don't like the road
It got too dark to see

And I don't mean to offend
But I'd like to contend
Been pushed down to long
I got to put on:
A pair of high flying wings

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That sang of glories to come
I once was lost (O how lost I was) but how profound
The shining road into the sun

And no disrespect but I'd like to collect
Don't mean to offend but I got to contend
Been pushed down to long
I need to put on:
A pair of high flying wings

And I'll fly away
(One glad morning when this life is gone)
When I die
Hallelujah, hallelujah bye and bye
I'll fly away