Do I have anything important to say?

Writing something "important" is an item in which many people feel intimidated. I certainly do. Writing about politics or comic books or whatever may tickle someone's ribs may feel quite significant to the individual, and they may get some followers online, start interesting discussions, gain friends, etc.. How do you bear your soul and open up, voicing your opinion or idea that could also bring on opposition and criticism?

I've always been a "middle" kind of gal. Maybe it's because I was the second child of four, a "middle child" that always had to be good, smart, creative, and attentive, which has all sort of psychological repercussions, supposedly. Being in the middle of the road, trying to avoid conflict is deeply rooted into my brain. "The Quiet One" as I was once called in the 8th grade, the wallflower, is a trait I cannot shake. Learning to be assertive, building my self-esteem, and not always conveying this shy, non-committal stance is so difficult. As I grow deeper into my shoes at work where I often fall into the role of leader, I am slowly taking the steps to voice my views, but there are aggressors that constantly shoot me down. As Chumbawamba said, "I get knocked down, but I get up again. You're never gonna take me down..."  And we wonder why they were one-hit wonders. Heh.

Back to the initial topic: writing something important.  I can do book reviews, give advice to young professionals, talk about arts and crafts, or write short stories. Putting words on paper is therapeutic to me, just as an artist may paint to calm his or her nerves. (Poor Van Gogh- while he painted he injested lead in the paint...made him crazier than he already was, but I digress.) But what is IMPORTANT, I ask? It's the "middle child" in me that doesn't want to sway.

I wrote a short, very short, children's story that I felt was unique, fun, and personal. I thought I had the support and endorsement from my husband and as I gained enthusiasm for the project to actually turn into something, Sport-o confessed that it really wasn't good. My heart broke. Do I go with my gut that originally loved the concept? Do I start over and build on what I have? Or do i scrap it? I'm in the middle again. Do I turn left or right? Is this something important to say?

I don't know the answer to this. For now it sits dormant which I believe is the worst option of all.

Still Life

To paraphrase: "...the true definition of still life: nature morte or natura un posa, inanimate objects that are isolated or in repose. There are no implications of action..."-- American Still Life

Upon reflection, I fit the definition of a still life. Sitting at my desk at the computer every day, virtually an inanimate object, isolated, and in repose. It seems the only exception is that I have a heartbeat.

Depression, anxiety, fear, and all those buzz words that are  every other commercial for medication on the TV creep into our brains. We feel there is something wrong with us. The loss of interaction with people via in person or the telephone affect us in more ways when we choose to instead "talk" via text or email. Staying in instead of going out. Fearing what lies in the dark, or worrying about that next day of work- those are ways of being a still life. Limiting ourselves when there are no limits.

It's hard to see yourself until you hold up a mirror and see past your face. Those Dove commercials that have that very message cover the physical manifestations of this point, but it is more than that. Seeing inward is the most important part of taking yourself out of being a still life and becoming more. If we could all become "more" what are the possibilities?  Continuing the thread of the art historical metaphors, we are  abstract, expressionistic, or impressionistic works; individual, one-of-a-kind works of art that are appreciated on their own merits and can withstand the test of time.  Why is that so hard to believe sometimes?

Elements

I've been working on the writing thing...I've updated my journal that I hadn't written in since 2006. It was enlightening to read about my life back then, and the previous entries. The common denominator is that I have always struggled with acceptance and making friends. I've had some close friends all my life, but as far as branching out, it is a concept I haven't been able to grasp.

It proved to me that even though many things have changed, there were so much that hasn't changed.

I did pick up the children's book idea again. Sport-o is willing to help me with illustrating it. That will prove to be an interesting partnership, as our artistic styles are so contrasting at times. Our work ethics are on completely different planes of existence as well.

A friend asked me what my hobbies were, and I struggled to answer. I've done so many different things, but haven't stuck to just one. It made me frustrated and sad that I can't stay on one project. However, it makes me more rounded as an artist and a person, doesn't it? I'm sure a psychologist would tell me about the issues I have, but too bad.

On another subject, I had a huge happy-to-crash-and-burn moment yesterday. Yesterday was supposed to be a happy day, as Sport-o was being honored last evening. Then, it felt like the ground was pulled from under me. I got bad news that made me turn into an angry mama bear that could have torn someone's head off. Really. That's how angry and uncontrolled I felt. It was a personal attack on someone I love. This instance, which I won't discuss in detail, could have ruined everything. It made me realize that there are people out there that have no regard for others, have no respect for people or their feelings, and make judgements on a whim that are unfounded, unprofessional, and just plain old bitchy.

I was at work, and when I got this phone call, I closed my door and cried. Then I tried to make myself a cup of tea to calm down, but to no avail. I walked outside and tried to calm down. Again, nothing was working. I could feel the smoke coming out of my ears.

My sister came to the rescue. I've kept my family in the dark with certain things, because I'm too afraid to open up about them, but I broke down and called her. The tears started flowing, and I couldn't stop. No- no one died, and there was nothing related to health or home, but it was the personal attack that could have ruined someone's happiness. That was the moment I just felt my heart break.

Being overdramatic is inherent in my genes. I knew it wasn't the end of the world and I knew this wasn't something that couldn't be resolved in some way. I look back a day later and see how I acted purely on emotion and didn't see it clearly, wasn't rational. Perhaps I could have been better support and provided better advice in a calm and collected way. But hindsight doesn't change anything.

Today, I'm calm and much more collected. I'm more of the person I usually am. Pacifist, shy, but smiling. Today I'm the professional. However, if I see this person in the flesh in the near future, the claws will come out.

 

Regrowth

I was given a really nice wristwatch for Christmas. It was just what I wanted, but it happens to be the noisiest watch I have ever owned. You can hear it tick from across the room. It reminds me of the Master from Doctor Who (the 10th Doctor) and the constant drumming he had in his head. I just happen to have it on my wrist. As long as I don't take over the world and try to bring back the planet of Gallifrey I think it will be ok.

I digress. This wasn't what I wanted to write about today. My thoughts were about writing. I feel like a need a project, and it seems like after all the crafty-crap I do, I find myself wanting to write. I'm too cowardice, though, to act on it. Yesterday I volunteered to write a blog for work, but I don't know if that will come through. If I have the time, I'd be glad to relate behind-the-scenes stories of what happens in a museum, or what the curatorial vision is behind an exhibition. However, I don't want to write garbage that reflects that I "just didn't have the time". Call me a perfectionist, but anything work related must be vetted and vetted again because so many people look at it. (It would not be a stream of consciousness like this entry flooded with "wases and weres".)

Last year I wanted to write a children's book. I had the idea laid out, and just needed to write it. It didn't happen. About 6 months ago, I promised my grandmother that I'd write a book (of sorts) about my mother and how she's touched the lives of so many people. I took notes, but it didn't go anywhere. What is wrong with me that I can't follow through on these projects? Do I lack the drive or the interest? Probably.

I'd like to try again. I'd like to pick up a pen (or just sit at a computer) and write something. Anything to get my creative juices flowing again. Creative writing was one of my favorite classes in school, but laborious college editing courses in historical editing and research killed those creative braincells. Instead of bringing an appealing world to life on paper I worried about passive sentences and grammar. It's not fair. I want to regrow those brain cells and actually do something fun.

I always thought that I'd be involved in the arts in some way- but I thought it was the visual arts I craved. Maybe it's the creative writing that I've neglected that rounds me out. Afterall, my mother is a writer and I learned from the best. I couldn't tell you how many papers, essays, didactics, and labels she's proofed for me. I also couldn't quantify the times as a kid that I cried over her "red ink" on my homework. Her criticisms were worse than my teachers. It was to make me a better writer. Today, I still I watch my commas like a hawk and my passives like a snake.

But time is ticking away. Tick. Tick. Tick. It's pretty loud.