Good Morning Monday-
I am not a complainer. Never have been. Never will be. I am a vent person (a “Ventor”). I had a really good weekend. Got rid of junk I don’t need, cleaned the house a little bit, had dinner with my parents, went to our local art fair, purchased art from said fair, went to church and topped off the weekend with a trip to the rose park/duck pond with my beloved grandmother.
Somehow seeing her clears my mind. Perhaps it was hearing her recount her childhood. She looked down at the water and proclaimed, “you know, I never learned how to swim.” My number 2 child asked her why and she said it was because her father died when she was a baby and didn’t have a mother or father to teach her things. She wanted to be a nurse, she wanted to travel the world and see the things that she had read about. She was an avid reader. She was raised in an orphange and quite frankly- she does have an excuse as why she didn’t get to accomplish some of her dreams.
So what is my excuse?
I have been thinking a lot about my last post. As you may or may not know I am an action jackson kind of person. If you don’t like something the way it is. Then change it. Period. That simple. Reinvent yourself. Tear yourself down and rebuild it to accommodate who you are. Look at it this way. We are constantly growing (or should be) Who we are when we are 20 is not who we will be when we are 40.
Sort of like buying clothes. You out grow them, emotionally, aesthetically and physically. Who says you can’t reinvent yourself?
So that’s what I am going to do.
I am going to create the opposite of a bucket list. Not that I think there is anything wrong with a bucket list, but for me the emphasis on dying is not what it is about. It is about living true to who you are. So I am going to create a list of things that I am going to make myself accomplish to make sure that I stay me and don’t turn into someone else or someone that someone else wants me to be. And now to create the list……..
So. Yes. I have been gone awhile. Wrapped up in the complicated medial tasks of whatever it is that we all do in our lives. I simply do not like to write when I don’t feel creative. I don’t think creativity should be forced. If it’s real it just happens. You have to be in the right state of mind to be creative. I used to be a person whose life was nourished by creativity, art, freedom, music, warm summer nights, not the kind that end at ten p.m.- You know the real nights. The nights that start at 2 am.
Maybe I’m bored. And for those of you that know me please don’t scold me for saying that. Me. I am bored. I need to get back to who I am. I sound freaky. But I’m serious. I used to just hear melodies in my head for songs I used to write. Words for songs used to pop into my head in complete thoughts. It used to be careless, unfiltered and free-flowing. When I used to hang out at the art studio I followed something I heard the Hopi indians used to do- I used to get a block of clay and asked it in my mind what it wanted to be. And inevitably amazing,beautiful and unique ideas would spring forth from my hands. I used to hear someone play a piano, or strum a guitar and would almost instantly hear a secondary melody, not yet written but making its presence known, dangling in the sounds between the sounds.
And now. Well. Now.
Once upon a time I was an artist. Untouched by the skewed crapola (yes its a word tonight) of the warped world. Somewhere along the way the world changed me. When I am in the silence of my thoughts I wonder am I the only one that feels this way? I don’t want to lose who I am. Does that make sense? Youth truly is wasted on the young. Or whatever that saying is. Now I am sounding like some old granny rocking on the front porch with gray hair pulled in a bun, knitting another blanket for whomever wants it.
We all should have an opportunity to start over, reinvent ourselves. Or maybe what I am saying is we should all have an opportunity to go back to keep ourselves. Keep the good stuff, throw out the bad stuff. Sometimes I think how in the hell did I get here. How did I, an artist, end up here? Have I turned into one of them? How do I stop this process? I simply do not want to be one of them. I do not want life to wear me down. Bash my dreams. Define who I am. So if someone knows where to find me, please tell me. Or better yet if you find me please tell her I am looking for her.