May. 12th, 2009

texchan: from spirited away: soot balls around chiharo's shoes (chiharo's shoes)
I always think of an epiphany as something huge and loud and life-shattering. The relevant definition would seem to indicate such a thing: a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience. (courtesy of dictionary.com) Or, maybe not. Maybe I've always expected or thought an epiphany, because of its sudden nature would be something brash or loud or ... well, something that was impossible to ignore or miss.

And yet, it has seldom worked that way in my life. I've had epiphanies -- not many, but a few -- and they have, invariably, come upon me quietly. Like a cat sneaking into the room on padded feet. Just, one moment, there's nothing. Then, you turn around and "boom", you've discovered something. About yourself. About your life. About the people around you.

This happened to me over the weekend. I read an article in the Sunday paper insert about a local playwright. She is very successful, and, in addition to her accomplishments as a writer, she is the mother of three young children. How does she do it? How can she manage this? Questions that immediately came to mind for me, as I can't seem to manage my time well, even though I only have one child. I was hesitant to read the article, because I felt like a failure even from looking at the very first sentence. (The one that said she's a successful playwright and the mother of three young children.)

But, the hubs told me I should read it. I argued that I couldn't take feeling like more of a failure. I do a great job of playing that card on myself; I didn't need the Sunday paper to help with it. He stood his ground, though, and promised me I would not feel like a failure. That, instead, I might feel ... inspired.

I almost hate it when he's right. Because it reminds me that he knows me so much better than I know myself, even. And yet, he still can't manage to put away his shoes or pick his socks up off the floor. Silly man.

Needless to say, I was inspired, in a way. The article discussed how, faced with the unexpected birth of her third child, this playwright felt she would have to bid her creative life good-bye. And so she embarked on a surge of creative energy during her pregnancy -- kind of like a person who finds they have only a finite number of months to live, she felt she had to push everything into these nine months left to her. These nine months before she would have to let go of that creative, inventive side of her life. And, somehow, through what she saw as an "ending", she actually found a beginning. Instead of bidding good-bye to her creative life, she realized it was something she could not let go. She realized, instead, she would have to look at her life, as a whole, and decide what was most important to her. The answer came easily: her kids and her writing -- and so she would focus on doing those two things to the very best of her ability.

I was ... well, stunned as I finished up the article. It seems so easy, doesn't it? The answer is simple: Figure out what you love the best and go do that. And yet, it's not so easy. It hasn't been easy for me. I fall into that trap of trying to do everything. And trying to do it perfectly. The more I dislike a task, the more I will try to perfect it. I'm not sure why I'm like this; I suspect it has something to do with my childhood and my parents' high (often unrealistic) expectations, but I can't know that for sure. But here was this woman who had been through much the same thing. Who had, also, tried to do everything. And who had realized: "Hey, it's not possible."

So, the moral is: Let it go.

This is what I need to do. I need to look around at my life and let things go. Figure out what is most important to me, keep those things, nurture those things, and cut the rest of the dead wood from my life. So far, I have failed to do that. I don't know why, really. I mean, I thought I knew why. When I started typing this, I thought I had it all figured out, but, as the words flow from my keyboard, I realize I don't get it. I just don't. I don't want to think about it. Maybe I don't want to go there. Whatever.

But that doesn't matter. I need to learn to let go of others' expectations for me and my life. I do a lot of things because others expect them of me ... or want them from me. And, at the end of the day, I look around and am left with nothing more than a hollow feeling. No one takes me seriously. No one believes in me. Not really. And it's my own fault. If I want to be a writer. If I want to make a living as a writer. If I want to even dream I'm capable of such a thing -- and I have no idea if I have the talent within me -- I have to take it seriously. No one else is going to do that until I take that step.

It seems like such a simple thing and yet, I dunno. I feel I've made some deep and meaningful discovery. Epiphanies. I guess they're like that.
texchan: aya with his bazooka, from WK OP #2 (Default)
I sense a hodge podge of a post coming on. Wheee! (or maybe not so much ... *nervous laugh*)

Been feeling generally icky and under the weather for the past couple of days. Doesn't help that I didn't sleep well last night. The good thing is that I know this will pass in a couple more days -- like the "curse" that it is. Bleh. It makes me regret being born female. Seriously. 'Nuff said, I think. >.O

Watched too much HGTV yesterday. Learned a few things: (1)I get nothing done when I have the TV tuned to HGTV. I can't tune those shows out for nothin'. (2)Everyone who doubted me when I wanted to go blue with black highlights for my kitchen should grovel at my feet! No, really -- I have, in the five years we've been in this house, slowly been adding new touches/redos in the kitchen, many of which employ this color scheme. So, if seeing it in person wasn't proof enough that it works, the "Spice up my Kitchen" show yesterday redid a kitchen with teacup blue walls, white cabinets, and black countertops. Gorgeous! And, see? I do have taste. Well, I mean, other than in my mouth, that is. (3)I want black granite countertops in the worst way. (4)I should stop watching HGTV ... because, yeah, now I really want the new countertops. *cries*

Fae is tormenting Sister Kitty. Sister Kitty is on the top stair leading up to the third floor. She snuck out of the office while Fae was sleeping. Sadly, I got up (disturbing Fae's slumber) before Sister Kitty made it back to the safety of her kitty bed. Now, only a child gate separates them, and Fae will not let things go. I can feel Sister Kitty's hate vibez from here. Poor kitty.

New books are the LOVE!!! ♥ ♥ Got an Amazon delivery last night: Book #5 of the Dresden Files (which I can never find in the store), and two books by Abigail Thomas. I'm in bibliophile heaven!! Many thanks to [livejournal.com profile] steffannee, whose wonderful Amazon b-day giftie made all this happiness possible.

I'm making chicken noodle soup tonight. Provided I have all the ingredients. If I don't have all the ingredients, I'll make ... hmmm. I don't know what I'll make, but it won't be chicken noodle soup.

I decided to try and use my Dreamwidth account as a dedicated writing journal. I've tried this in the past here on LJ, but it never worked out. Hopefully the third (millionth) time is the charm. We shall see.

And, it's time for me to go pick up my daughter at school. =D
texchan: fraser, from due south, in a closet (fraser closet)
This afternoon, I spent some time reading Safekeeping, by Abigail Thomas. I sat, first in my office -- with my computer cursor blinking at me, as if it could encourage me to put my own words onto the screen before me, and then in the kitchen as my daughter ate her dinner, sang a few silly songs, and the day faded into night. And, as always, I found myself lost -- happily so -- in Ms. Thomas's words. In the small glimpses she showed me of her life. In her thoughts and hopes and dreams and even her sorrows. I lost all track of time. Dishes went unwashed. Bathtime was delayed. Fae had to remind me, more than once, that it was time for her dinner. I could not stop -- did not want to stop -- until I had read each and every word. Until I had flipped the last page and could, finally, lay the book aside with a small, contented sigh.

I don't know what it is about her books and, in particular, her writing. In general, I'm not a fan of memoirs. And yet, I simply love Ms. Thomas's writing. Her depictions. The life she has managed to live through. It makes me laugh. And cry. It touches my heart, in more ways than one. It's like her words crawl into me and come to life.

And I can't help wondering: When will I be able to do that? Will I ever be able to do that? Or my favorite: Why can't I do that?

And I set the book aside, satisfied and happy to have read it. But, at the same time, sad, too, because maybe I've found my own limitations.

July 2012

S M T W T F S
1 2 3 4 5 6 7
8 9 10 11 1213 14
15 16 17 18 19 2021
22 232425262728
293031    

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags