Monday, January 21, 2013

Small Things, a Warrior, and the Great Green Outdoors

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A couple of years ago Alexis introduced me to the idea of replacing the New Year's Resolution with choosing a word to focus on throughout the year. Karen Walrond of Chookaloonks is doing a journal course that started with illustrating the year's choice of word. (I wish I'd known when sign-ups were open, because revisiting the personal journal therapy is also a 2013 trip for me.)

In contagious excitement, I asked Shane and Molly to choose a steering word for the year, too. Because he's a collector and target shooter, and loves pushing my buttons, Shane threw out the word 'gun', and so I informed him that his word is warrior. Molly rattled off about a thousand potential words before settling on outdoors.

I chose small.
Current favorite visual things: 1. Doodles photographed then run
through Vintique filters & frames. 2. Sepia art pens.
3. That turquoise/sky-blue gel pen.
Through intense therapy, meaning venting at my friends for hours, I've identified that my great big magical thinking is a thing I'd like to ground. During some moderate freaking out with Shane about my pain continuing after the stimulator implant, he repeatedly reminded me to approach with baby steps. It is helping a lot, but it doesn't erase the pain. I didn't think I expected it to, but a little bit, maybe I did.

This year follows my continuing search for mindfullness, which was my word a couple of years ago. I love having a creative mind that has been marinating in fantasy, horror, and sci-fi media as long as I can remember, but that world needs to be channeled into art and stories, and my feet need to live on our lovely, solid earth. It feels like changing a huge thing, which illustrates the challenge pretty much exactly.

So often we don't do the work on our grand ideas, forgetting that a novel is made of pages, which are paragraphs, which are words. Or it's hard to move when mourning or depression are hanging so heavy in our minds, but the steps to the medicine cabinet are small, and the pen and journal or phone are within reach. The idea of a life with physical limits is scary, but the reality of an afternoon walk is coming soon.

Life is moments. I've lost years to forgetting that. Small is about this placetime right here right now. So I'll let go (gently, for this moment) of fretting for that past, and work on being present instead of existing in future worries. But it doesn't have to be a big Life Makeover. It's just moments.

I'm "late" posting this; I've missed a lot of #365poems; I slacked on drawings. I'm just going to pick up and go on. When I need to rest or sleep or cry I'll do that. When I can write and draw I'll do that. My body's still an unknown quantity, but life does that. Life IS that. That's where it hides the treasures. The unknown is a fertile place, and it's scary to be here. But this moment right now is a warm, peaceful moment. Molly's here with me drawing a vampire fairy and we have plans to write a thank you letter to Martin Luther King, Jr.

She is the love of my life, my small girl, and we are going to bake a loaf of bread.

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