Tag: dream

am i merely beige?

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Have you ever felt like you’ve been given a 120-count box of crayons and a beautiful coloring book full of intricate, scenic pictures, and for some reason you haphazardly yet thoroughly scribble over each and every page with the same beige stick of wax?

I thought I entertained a talent. I thought I possessed a gift. But lately, all I notice is a hole in my heart – a dark space, a void, where once there was a spark. It became a passion – a drive – early in my life. Some may even equate it to a drug; it offered a way for me to experience a high. The rush of adrenaline and the euphoria of tactile “creation” were unmatched. It ushered me into another realm from which I could escape whatever sinister chiasms of reality threatened to devour my spirit. I became quite dependent on the tantalizing notion of being able to bend reality to suit my mood. However, the unwavering tick of the clock proved not as forgiving, and I had to slink away, nary a moment to sip from the pool of cathartic verbiage to poetize.

Desperate for tangible evidences of creativity, I found less potent “soul-narcotics”, and began spinning yarns (literally, yarn projects – crocheting, knitting, anything to experience “creation” again). But alas, days dripped into weeks, which poured into months, which flooded into years, cascading to this, my breaking point, where I can no longer deny this overwhelming desire to dive – full-body, wholeheartedly – back into the throes of addiction; to once again toil over the expression of hopes and desires and to feel the exhilaration of exquisitely executed alliteration. Of course, breaking free of my captor, Monsieur Obligatoire, was no easy task; the complete success of my escape still remains to be seen. Until I am dragged, kicking and screaming, back to the dungeon of dreary academia expository dribble, I will satiate my lust for imagination activity by hacking away at long-slumbering story lines and plodding plot schemes in hopes of developing some delectable morsels adequate and suitable for consumption.

Forlornly, I long for the days of effortless prose, uninhibited wanderings of whimsy and intriguing exploration beyond the concrete and gray… Is there a way back to the garden? Is there a way back along the dry and unforgiving path to where the thick twisted tree branches bow and sway under the weight of vibrant song-filled fantastical birds and the yellow-pink air, swirling sweet with fruit and fresh rain? Will I again triumphantly return and know the joy of simple and profound inspiration, nestled peacefully between passion’s flame and the tangible side of imagination? That is my hope.

Managing to hike up through the brambles and weeds, over the rocky, worn path, and past the dilapidated fencing, I stand before the rather large, somewhat intimidating door… Without preparation, without thorough planning, without unabashed confidence, I now seem to lack the strength – more precisely, the courage – to push beyond the barrier; truth be told, I can’t even bring myself to humbly knock and beg passage. Trying with all that is left within me to muster up the fortitude and resume my journey despite the dark raging storms, the tempests of deepest doubt and the gusts of insecurity that berate my spirit, I dig my heel into the sandy soil, draw a breath from my right pinky toe, exhale with the exuberance of a teenager at the dentist’s office, and forge on.

Prelude to “The Kiss”

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“Mom, can you believe some people’s luck?” he began with such exasperation. “I’m so jealous!”

Okay, before we get any further with this, allow me to roll this story back about five months, to the middle of May 2016, and the start of summer semester in school – human resources management.

               Relevance, you ask? Hold on, I’m getting there!

So, while digging deeper into the required assignments, and doing research to help construct the foundation of my mock HR policy manual, I happened across a wonderful piece of, well let’s just call it “literature” for the sake of tidiness. It was a pilfered, several-years-old handbook for new employees, chock-full of unconventional tips for the corporate newbie, offering a hand to help guide said-tenderfoot through the maze of job assignments, coffee pot etiquette, and even how to not to freak out about the availability of dartboards and massage tables, but to get suspicious in the event of catered lunches with caviar… I know, I started thinking to myself: how do I land a job at THIS place? Dartboards and massages? Yes, please!

Here’s where things start to get interesting…

Reading further, I start to realize what type of company this is – I was genuinely unfamiliar with the organization’s name because the line of work they’re involved in is just not up my alley. However…

“Son, have you ever heard of XYZ Company?” I asked of my youngest, not sure what type of response to expect. His dead-pan expression made it seem as if I had asked him if he had ever heard of a big gaseous ball in the outer reaches of space, bursting forth with an unsurpassed brightness, often referred to as THE SUN. He went on – in small words, so that I was sure to understand the extent of my error and simple-mindedness – to explain the vastness of this company’s reach in their field of expertise. I flipped my laptop around to show him the, umm, illustrations (reminiscent of the Dick and Jane series fame, circa 1930s), and for hours, he and I discussed this XYZ Company in great detail. It was a wonderful bonding moment for us –bringing together one of his passions alongside one of my school obligations, and cemented the idea that education isn’t necessarily droll. The highlight: finding out that XYZ Company resided in our own backyard! At that point, my son decided he wanted to gear his upcoming studies toward nearing his feet to their front door. Goals are a good thing!

So, fast forward back to Saturday afternoon…

No! Wait, not that far! (No, no – hear me out! If I skip this bit, nothing will make sense, trust me!!)

So, THURSDAY, at work, one of my clients sends over some last minute documentation for filing; I make a quick comment to him about something I notice regarding, yep, XYZ Company, and he says “Oh yeah! Did some this-and-that for them; great bunch of folks!” I throw in a “my son would be so jealous” comment, mentioning it’s his aspiration to work there in the future, and get hit with a “my friend so-and-so works there full-time, how about I see if he can hook you guys up with a tour?” Umm, yes, please! Emails start flying Thursday, and by the end of day on Friday, I’m in touch with “the friend” at XYZ Company, who’s helping to secure my nomination for “Mom of the Year” award! Get this: I’m asked if we’d prefer being put on the list for the ‘group tour’, or if we’d rather just tag alongside “the friend” on a personal exploration… Seriously?! I can’t breathe!! And I can’t tell my son; I’m keeping this a secret!

Okay – NOW on to Saturday!

Completely – and I do mean completely!! – out the blue, he’s talking about how he’s jealous of his buddy, and I’m clamoring to find out why. (He doesn’t seem to be “upset” in this jealous rage; it’s more of an exuberant jealousy, which I’m guessing is a good thing…) As the story goes, his friend has posted pictures he took – wait for it!!! – while. on. a. tour. of. XYZ Company headquarters! Really?? I had to know: a group tour?? How did he score a deal like THAT?? My son didn’t have the answers, and based on the dates the pictures were originally uploaded to his social media page, the tour was over two years ago. Still, it was genuinely something to be excited about. Me? I felt as if an elephant was standing on my chest as I tried to share in my son’s covetousness, full-knowing what adventures lay just around the corner!

I wanted to say something! Oh, it took everything within me to keep that secret bottled up; to not blow my cork and say something foreshadowing like “just wait a week” or “you’re a pretty lucky kid, too, you know?” Oooohhhh! The suspense, people!

 

          (side bar: this will actually be the THIRD ‘big-reveal’ secret I’ve been involved with this year – first, flying down with my two children to surprise my mother for her birthday/Mother’s Day; second, flying my mother and one of my nephews up to my area and surprising my daughter on her birthday by having her Grandma at her birthday dinner; and now, this! I KNOW what I want the next surprise to be; the details just haven’t panned out yet…)

 

It’s Tuesday, and this spectacular event is slated to take place on Thursday. I’m hoping my heart can hold out for two more days!

…Giddy… can’t breathe!

A cog in THE MACHINE

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I do see, acknowledge, ponder, and even (mentally) respond to some of those “one word” or “two word” writing prompts that pop up from time to time; however, recently, I haven’t had a lot of free time to pen out long, thought-provoking chronicles, or even insightfully toasty chestnuts of wisdom to share with the masses (school will do that to a person’s cache of unobligated minutes – note previous post, “6,810”…). That’s not to say that I ignore the prompts entirely either, avoiding any version of “eye contact”, as one would, trying to escape the shopping store without being accosted by the newspaper vendor offering a free Sunday issue, the cable/dish t.v. service vendor trying to make small talk, or those adorable Capitalists-in-training, with their boxes and tubs of chocolate, popcorn, and cookies. No, I admit, while most of them I give only a passing glance, gnaw on the concept for a fleeting moment or two to see if it’s flavorful, and usually expel before any ache takes form in my jaw or head, some of them get stuck in my teeth, forcing me to wrestle with them for longer than a hiccup, and darn if unsolicited ideas don’t start to form like dastardly rain clouds over a long-awaited beach party.

One such prompt was the single word, “Melody”. I’m sure there are a million different directions a ripe mind could take this term. I think, however, when I happened across it, my mind was beyond ripe, and the term steam-rolled right over me, spewing creative juices and seeds of introspection throughout the entirety of my conscious. The hardest part about the whole experience was finding the time to make something coherent out of it – whether there were enough logical pieces to dice up, throw together with peppery bits, emotional, tear-inducing slivers, zingy one-liners, and serve it all with a big bowl of corniness, or whether I’d just have to scoop up the remnants, continue to grind away and just make a saucy pulp out of it.

Now, most people know what a melody is, but in case there are any doubts, let me just state the basics: a melody is the succession of single tones in musical compositions, producing a distinct musical phrase or idea, and is considered the principal part in a harmonic composition (thank you Dictionary.com). That was easy enough. So why all the fuss? Why did this word hit like a drum line before kick-off at the Homecoming Game? Because after giving a moment’s thought to “melody”, I began to consider its partner, “harmony”. And, well, there’s been a serious lacking of “harmony” in my life lately.

I had the pleasure of sitting down with a good friend the day before my classes began this term, and she and I got on the topic of employment (ugh… that can be as painful as slicing open your finger with the edge of paper, and drowning that cut in a vat of salty lemon juice! But, I digress…). She is wise, this friend of mine; wise, loving, patient, and encouraging! Knowing that I’ve wrestled from time to time with my choice to forego personal pursuits for the tediousness of “obligation” and valiantly wearing the mask of “responsibility”, she assured me that hope was not lost, and that the opportunity may still exist to shake off the dust of corporate society and rekindle the fiery passion I once coddled like a iridescent soap bubble whimsically dancing on the breeze just above the death-spikes of the spring lawn. But, alas, I explained to her my years and years of “conditioning”, my submission to conformity, and my subsequent fashioning into the perfect corporate “cog”. She just smiled, gave me a hug, and told me I was not “a cog”! Bless her!

What that conversation made me realize was that much of my life – especially recently – lacked depth. I submitted early to the idea that creativity was unacceptable and that conformity was essential for survival (find a career path that was sustainable regardless of economic and geographical circumstances). I carried that ideology from my youth, through my young adulthood, and into my later years. My life-song was pure melody; there was no acceptance of random, complementary high and low notes, lofty imaginativeness, intoxicating fervor, vision, talent, and originality, despite my admiration of such occurrences in others’ lives. I hid “symptoms” of inspiration, knowing that one could not sing both melody and harmony simultaneously, and I knew it was wrong to abandon the “principal parts” in life. Therefore, I would stick to the melody, and allow my song to be flat, monotonous.

That’s all and well – for me. However, I have children. And I feel that I’ve done them a terrible disservice! By carrying this philosophy of “conformity” and “obligation”, I fear that I may have strangled the creativity out of their spirits – just as was done to me when I was younger. Not having much of an advocate to help foster ingenious and innovative thinking, colorful and charismatic dreaming, and fanciful and flagrant cavorting, I did not know how to be such an advocate for my children – at least not wholeheartedly. I hope I may have slipped from time to time, and said something encouraging back before the weight of the world came crashing in on them; I pray that they still harbor flames of inspiration within their souls, and coax it out to at least toast a marshmallow or two! If nothing else, I openly say at this time I am deeply sorry if my “cog”-iness was more desert than your pools of enchantment could endure. My wish for you, my dear children (and for anyone on the brink of suspended animation) is to pursue what makes your heart soar! Live for your dreams, and never allow yourself to become a cog of the system – conditioned and effectively lifeless. Stand tall. Stand proud. Stand out.

As the reader-board in front of the physical therapy clinic put it so succinctly:

‘Be a flamingo in a flock of pigeons.’

Time to Dream… Time for Dreams…

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So, wow! Here I am… Here it is… It’s real! I guess I’ve always dreamed of something like this, but never expected it to become reality. Not that realizing your dreams isn’t possible – if that were the case, shows like “American Idol” would not exist, no athlete would stand on the top pedestal and proudly sing his or her country’s national anthem while clutching that disk of gold around their neck, and you crafty tailors and seamstresses can forget about it! If Elias Howe ignored his dream – literally! – there would be no sewing machines with which to stitch and sew your artful masterpieces. No, for me, it wasn’t a “this will never happen” sort of impossibility; it was more of a “will you ever find the time?” type of improbability.

“Spare time”. Now there’s something I wish I could bottle and sell! You know that’s something everyone is going to need at some point, whether they need it today, in the future, yesterday, or a continuous IV drip. I used to joke, “I need some more spare time, but I can’t seem to find it on the shelf at the local mega-mart. And even if they did stock it, I don’t have any spare time to get to the store to buy any!” Truer words were never uttered. Well, that was before I took on parenting alone, spiced it up with some health “hurdles”, and eventually tossed in advanced-level online courses, on my way to a master’s degree. Sure, why not, right? Who needs sleep?

Logically I thought, in the midst of all this “fun”, why not tackle one more behemoth, and start an online forum… There’s time for that, right? A full-time job that eats up nearly 12 hours of each (week)day, 3 to 5 hours of studying and homework every night, the blessed job of motherhood – not to mention dishes, laundry, cat boxes, lawn maintenance, grocery shopping, and other ad hoc duties as assigned – church, and the occasional attempt at having a social life (insert laugh track here) – apparently isn’t enough for this, umm, what’s the right word here… *cough*  masochistic psychopath *cough, cough*; I need Superman to take a few reverse laps around this beautiful blue marble for me so that I can catch up!

Let’s be honest, I haven’t figured out the secret to slowing down the earth’s rotation. I haven’t been able to miraculously add hours to the end of the day by stealing them from the beginning of the day – that’s not to say I haven’t tried, and successfully proven that it is an unsuccessful endeavor! I don’t own a T.A.R.D.I.S. (nor am I personally acquainted with any medical personnel who may have indefinitely “borrowed” one). What I have figured out is waiting for the day when you have “spare time” will leave you waiting for an eternity! It’s late  – a malicious, “slap in the face” kind of late – and my rather loud wristwatch is ticking down each minute of sleep I’m not getting; but it’s Saturday night, so I don’t have to worry about a dreadful alarm blasting some ridiculously annoying screech in the morning (one of the reasons I love going to church on Saturday evenings). However, this – THIS! – has waited long enough, and I can no longer turn a blind eye or a deaf ear to the cries of my own heart! Time, you thief of dreams! You irksome tormentor, with your unstoppable “tick tick” beat, devoid of a heart’s warmth and patient spirit, have proven a worthy opponent, and I am through with your taunting; I accept your challenge!

Writing has been a passion of mine since the second grade – God bless Mrs. Imhof for her encouragement; I will never forget it. And although not all of this may be scribing novels or penning poetry, it is allowing me the opportunity to express thought, stretch my creative wings, and even dabble in entertaining (hopefully!), using my penchant and zeal for the written word. Bursting with excitement, trepidation, and indeterminate hope, I am about to transform a part of who I am and turn it into a vessel, poised and ready to not only capture life as I see it, but allow it to mix, mingle, marinade, penetrate, percolate and cavort fantastically with new and exciting ideas, thoughts, and discussions and spill out onto the virtual page in a smearing and smudging of all that, well, IS!

Wet Paint

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It’s all so new! Like walking out of the nail salon with that fresh coat of high-gloss scarlet, screaming “stop and stare at me!” I’ve been talking about doing this for quite some time; I can’t believe I’ve actually seen this project to fruition! [hesitant happy-dance] Now let’s see if I can get home without smudging my new paint job…

This blog is two-fold: it was initially conceived as a venue for creative outlet and just a place to do what I love – to write! Whether sharing fun stories from a catastrophically chaotic day at the office, or musing about the four-legged furbabies around the house, I knew I needed something that pulled me out of the doldrums of tax preparation and restored a sense of youthfulness, inspiration, and wonder that I found lacking in my life as of late. As I fought to concentrate on topics, however, a few of my closet skeletons began to scratch and claw at that back door of my mind, whining and wailing to be set free. Several years ago, I started writing a book when struck by an incredibly forceful vein of inspiration. Everything from job stress, to several family relocations, to medical complications, to computer failures, to just plain ol’ writer’s block – not to mention a little bit of life – interrupted the forward momentum of the story, and it remained dormant. Like late tax returns needing to be filed, the incomplete pages began to weigh heavy on me, but the concept was still so scattered. In talking with several friends, they suggested I just start writing… Just write! So that’s what I’ve done. I started writing. And sure enough, the ideas began to flow again, which was exhilarating – and oddly, exhausting at the same time, as I am not as young as I used to be, and my days are quite occupied otherwise!

Nonetheless, I have decided to utilize this blog for both musings of the recreational sort, and for further advancement of my story. My posts may contain odd antidotes about some random visit to the grocery store, and the conversation I fell into with a product demonstrator, or it may share a tidbit about a piece of the story I was able to accomplish in the days leading up to the post. Either way, I do hope you find the posts entertaining. And, I do encourage your feedback! I love to hear what’s on your mind! Did something I share spark a memory? Are you experiencing a similar scenario in your life or workplace? Do you just need some encouragement, whether you’re writing a piece of fiction, a research paper for school, or just trying to make it from one day to the next? 

My goal is to publish new posts at least once a week (I’m aiming for the ‘unscripted’ hours between Friday evening and sunrise on Monday morning), but if things are going well – meaning, if I’m not putting in too much overtime at the office, all the homework is done, and the house is not asunder – I may sneak in an additional post from time to time.

With that said, here we go!