There's been something that I've been thinking about for a few days. And I think I've come to a conclusion.
I'm not gifted.
I'm not surprised by this....just a little disappointed.
I'm not an artist. I am "crafty". This isn't impressive. I can sew, bake, and cook. But, this is only because I can follow instructions and I don't mind prep work. I actually like prep work. I enjoy laying out the patterns, cutting precisely, assembly the ingredients and measuring correctly, I like to chop up vegetables, stir till a sauce thickens, and fill individual serving dishes with exactly the same amount of vanilla pudding. I prefer projects that are precise and not free form. I enjoy cross-stitch more than crewel work. I agonize over the uniformity of my knitting or crochet stitches. I like my cookies the same size and my cupcakes to look virtually identically iced. This also makes me obsessive. Well, perhaps "obsessive" is too strong a term. Picky, ...fussy,... anal.
I do not "scrap book". Too free-form. I do not cut my pictures into fun shapes or add bows, ribbons, or bits of cloth. I assemble photos in an organized way that chronicles a specific time period or particular subject. I save little mementos that I intersperse with the pictures, like ticket stubs or receipts or menus. Flat, appropriate memorabilia, so as not to disrupt the way the album closes or lays flat on the desk or stands precisely on a shelf.
I have not tried quilting. When I do, I bet I will pick a pattern with precision cut geometric shapes fitting together in repetitive designs and possibly machine stitched. I don't like the idea of using a sewing machine for quilting, and my hand hemming is arguably the best and most exact that you'll find anywhere, so I can only hope I'll be just fine.
I am adventurous with color, but only on things that can be easily changed. I prefer neutral walls.
I am not an athlete. My most important attribute when it comes to physical activity is that I am stubborn. Really, really stubborn. Pigheaded. If I set out to do something, or, God forbid, someone tells me I can't or shouldn't, I will complete the task or die trying. I have no natural ability. I don't run, I waddle. I have short legs. But, if I set out to run three miles, I will complete those three miles if I am sick, injured, and irregardless of the weather. I had lightening strike not 25 feet from me on a run a few years ago. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. You could smell the ozone. I waited it out on someone's porch and finished my course. I attend a kickboxing class once a week. I love it. I'm older than anyone by 10 years. I attended covered in poison ivy rash. No one would partner me. But I wouldn't leave. It's what I do on Wednesday nights. I have run races with blisters bleeding into my sneakers. But, I'm not competitive. I only enter races where they won't shoot you if you're last, because I have come in last. And I've entered races since then.
Which leads me to the next little item. I am not a genius. Probably not even close. I don't know what my I.Q. is, but I'd bet I won't be pleasantly surprised. I read voraciously. But, mostly novels. I try poetry, but it hasn't been pretty. I will read the occasional non-fiction selection (I enjoyed "John Adams" by David McCullough, but who didn't?). But mostly, I just read for enjoyment. I read the paper everyday - the comics, the advice columns, and the letters to the editor. I know how to, and I can, balance a check-book. I will not quit till it agrees with the statement. I then close the check-book and couldn't tell you what the balance is to save my life! I multiply on my fingers, for God's sake! Sudoku makes me physically ill! I do enjoy watching Indy films. That's either a big plus, or proves my point.
And I'm afraid I may not be a novelist. What if I'm just a "journalist"? And not a good one?
And there's something else I need to confess. Daughter is pregnant with her third child. This is wonderful news. And even though this baby is no larger that a shirt button, I love it with every fiber of my being. I can't wait till March, when she's due. But, I wonder if I'm up to it. I have limits and that scares me. I HAVE LIMITS! I know this from experience. It's a lie from the pit of hell that we can do and have time for everything we want to do. Sometimes, I'm so tired. I don't want to be too tired for those babies. I don't want to be too tired for my daughter. And I want to have something left over for Tall One. You wouldn't believe how patient and supportive that man has been for the last thirty years. And there are so many others that I treasure, that I don't want to let down. Not for them. They love me, they would understand. But for me, ME. Life flys by. And, I'm not gifted....and I think I might need to be....
Monday, July 21, 2008
Saturday, July 5, 2008
The Fun House Mirror
My dreams were indicative of my waking emotional state. Settling for instant gratification...Contemplating shoplifting birthday party favors for my grown nephews...Sandra Bullock at the grocery check-out, opening and explaining all my purchases...Spending too much money. In the light of day, there may be rational explanations for my restless dreaming. Too much to drink, too much to eat and watching the end of "Marie Antoinette", visually beautiful, but disturbing and depressing, just before going to sleep. On Sandra Bullock, I'm completely stunned.
I woke up in a foul mood, full of self-loathing and self-doubt. This doesn't happen often, but it's terribly troubling today. I wonder who I've offended, who I've put off. Am I really so self absorbed and selfish that I can't see beyond my own wants and desires? I don't believe that I see myself correctly. Do any of us? We see through the filter of others, our own perceptions and prejudices, and the veil of fantasy with which we surround ourselves. It's how most of us survive.
Daughter called to tell me a "gym story". In her late teens, Daughter was a competitive body builder. She's still very physically active and works at the gym a few hours a week. One of the ladies that she's known from her body building days, a former competitor herself, was in for her workout. Daughter and Former Competitor were talking about kids and summer activities and Former Competitor told Daughter that her children go to the pool everyday with their father. Former Competitor doesn't go. She won't wear a bathing suit. This is a fit, firm, low body fat, workout fanatic, with an impressive boob job. She would look amazing in a bathing suit. And, yet, she chooses not to spend pool time with her husband and children. I don't think that she's making this decision for positive life affirming reasons, like not making the rest of us look awful, or not enticing men-not-her-husband to lust. I have a strong feeling that how she sees herself, physically, is extremely distorted in an unflattering way. This is an all too frequent phenomenon. I don't believe it's any different with our character or personality. We're looking in a fun house mirror.
So what's true for me? How do I gauge my own obnoxiousness? Am I compassionate or perceptive, intelligent, wise? Or am I just a major fuck up, gaily moving through the world causing offense and damaged feelings? Could I be doing ill, thinking that I'm ok? I know that I'm not perfect. There are things that I'm aware of and working on changing right now. I don't set out to purposely hurt people. I try hard not to judge. I smile. I'm competent in the day-to-day minutia of life. I can use a computer, cell phone, and program a DVR. I love.
Some days that's not enough. But, so far, I'm not afraid enough of negative consequences not to act. As insecure as this day began, I've talked to Daughter and Dude, walked with Tall One, briefly related to business clients in a professional and friendly manner. I've tried to brighten Nana's day during our phone conversations. I cleaned, did laundry, and took out the trash. I showered, brushed my teeth, made the bed, watched TV, and ate ice cream. This is not a chronological list. Nor is it complete. But in all I've done or tried to be, I've to the best of my ability behaved honorably. I haven't lied for personal gain. I haven't cheated. I haven't yelled obscenities at small children or kicked puppies. I don't hate.
Perhaps the fun house mirror is the best we can hope. Some days we can laugh hysterically at the clownish distortions, other days we howl at the grotesque image leering back at us. Most days, thank God, I don't even have time to look.
I woke up in a foul mood, full of self-loathing and self-doubt. This doesn't happen often, but it's terribly troubling today. I wonder who I've offended, who I've put off. Am I really so self absorbed and selfish that I can't see beyond my own wants and desires? I don't believe that I see myself correctly. Do any of us? We see through the filter of others, our own perceptions and prejudices, and the veil of fantasy with which we surround ourselves. It's how most of us survive.
Daughter called to tell me a "gym story". In her late teens, Daughter was a competitive body builder. She's still very physically active and works at the gym a few hours a week. One of the ladies that she's known from her body building days, a former competitor herself, was in for her workout. Daughter and Former Competitor were talking about kids and summer activities and Former Competitor told Daughter that her children go to the pool everyday with their father. Former Competitor doesn't go. She won't wear a bathing suit. This is a fit, firm, low body fat, workout fanatic, with an impressive boob job. She would look amazing in a bathing suit. And, yet, she chooses not to spend pool time with her husband and children. I don't think that she's making this decision for positive life affirming reasons, like not making the rest of us look awful, or not enticing men-not-her-husband to lust. I have a strong feeling that how she sees herself, physically, is extremely distorted in an unflattering way. This is an all too frequent phenomenon. I don't believe it's any different with our character or personality. We're looking in a fun house mirror.
So what's true for me? How do I gauge my own obnoxiousness? Am I compassionate or perceptive, intelligent, wise? Or am I just a major fuck up, gaily moving through the world causing offense and damaged feelings? Could I be doing ill, thinking that I'm ok? I know that I'm not perfect. There are things that I'm aware of and working on changing right now. I don't set out to purposely hurt people. I try hard not to judge. I smile. I'm competent in the day-to-day minutia of life. I can use a computer, cell phone, and program a DVR. I love.
Some days that's not enough. But, so far, I'm not afraid enough of negative consequences not to act. As insecure as this day began, I've talked to Daughter and Dude, walked with Tall One, briefly related to business clients in a professional and friendly manner. I've tried to brighten Nana's day during our phone conversations. I cleaned, did laundry, and took out the trash. I showered, brushed my teeth, made the bed, watched TV, and ate ice cream. This is not a chronological list. Nor is it complete. But in all I've done or tried to be, I've to the best of my ability behaved honorably. I haven't lied for personal gain. I haven't cheated. I haven't yelled obscenities at small children or kicked puppies. I don't hate.
Perhaps the fun house mirror is the best we can hope. Some days we can laugh hysterically at the clownish distortions, other days we howl at the grotesque image leering back at us. Most days, thank God, I don't even have time to look.
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