When did you grow up?
When did you stop running at full-speed for no reason at all?
When did you stop rolling around in the snow just for fun?
When did you stop swimming at the pool or playing baseball in the hot sun?
Maybe one of the reasons to have children is to come full circle, to play in the snow and laugh and tickle and ride amusement park rides and feel the magic of childhood all over again.
Life is one big circle.
As recently noted, we’ve been busy and have been doing a juggling act between businesses, home renovation, and real life.
It’s no secret that this has been a tough year for me. I have certainly alluded to some struggles: worrying about everything, not appreciating the ones we love, and general confusion about what I should be doing with my life.
Ever since we met as teenagers, there have always been ups and downs between Cameron and I. Cam is an excellent communicator, and we usually come out of bad spells closer than ever, having learned a lot about the other person.
During a recent heart-to-heart conversation, we talked about love. We talked about what it means to be loving and show that the other person is special to you.
We both agreed that we could both be doing a little more in the department of secret love notes and general ooey-gooey niceness.
In my defence, I explained to him that I had been showing love in tangible ways. Like, didn’t he realize that when I went grocery shopping and I kept the pantry stocked with his favourite foods it meant love?
And didn’t he realize that once a year when I vacuumed under the bed that meant love?
And didn’t he realize that when I wash bowls in the bathroom sink it’s a tangible, real demonstration of my love?
“Don’t you get it?” I asked. “Food is love. Clean dishes mean love.”
“Oh.” He said. “I wasn’t really thinking about that as love. I thought that was just part of our relationship–the things we do for ourselves and each other on a daily basis. That’s not really the same thing as a foot massage or a love letter. Like, do you feel loved when I change the oil in the car?” He asked. “”Or do you feel loved and special when I clear snow from the driveway?”
“Oh.” I said. “No, when you do that stuff I just appreciate it, I guess. It doesn’t make me feel loved and special…per se.”
“No.” He said. “It doesn’t.”
We looked at each other. I blinked. He blinked.
Later that week, there were Post-It notes with hearts on them. And a rose found its way into our humble abode.
I recently realized that clean dishes are not love. Or they are just part of love–they are not all of it. And they are certainly not enough.
So maybe it’s okay to leave a pile of unwashed laundry in the hamper and instead take a long walk holding hands. In fact, maybe it’s absolutely necessary.
I grew up in a musical household. My mother is a professional violinist who revels in playing music. She has played the violin since she was five years old, and it’s her thing. She loves to play. I think she would say that when she is playing her violin she “blisses out.” I think I may have even heard her echo these words on more than one occasion: “I love to practice my violin.”
If you’ve ever been an unwilling music student, you might be aware that it is not everyone who can say, “I love to practice my instrument.” But my mother has been playing professionally for decades, and playing the violin is still her thing.
As the daughter of a professional musician, I grew up playing the cello. I started playing at the age of four, and I even faked my way through a season with the Vancouver Island Symphony. I enjoyed playing the cello, but it was not my thing. Unlike my mother, I did not love to practice my cello–even though I tried to will the cello to be my thing. Intellectually I wanted to be a glamorous cellist, but I did not have the will for it. It didn’t flow. I couldn’t bliss out playing the cello the way my mom could bliss out playing her violin. Playing music wasn’t my thing.
As a kid I remember genuinely wondering what was wrong with me. Why could my mother play for hours but for me it felt so forced? Why wasn’t I like her? I didn’t understand why, but I realized that we weren’t the same. My mother is a kind, kindred, warm person and there was no ill-will over my lack of dedication or drive when it came to the cello. I think she realized that it wasn’t my thing, and by the age of fourteen I was a spent cellist.
I entered teenage-hood, and by the time that I emerged out the other side I had found my thing.
I never decided that blogging and writing and communicating with you would be my thing. It just happened. It was natural. Once I started in 2001 I just couldn’t stop. This is my thing.
This blank box in which I am typing allows me to read, write, share. To connect with you. I can tell you a thousand secrets. I can paint a picture with my fingers. I can create something out of nothing. All this from a keyboard and a blank box in which I can type.
In this blank box I can go in any direction. This is my creative outlet. This is where I feel that I am the most me.
One of the greatest rushes of joy in my life is when I have an idea that I want to write about or I receive an email or a comment in which someone divulges that my words have touched them.
Like any person with a thing that is creative, I don’t know where my ideas come from. Ideas just hit me. Of course, ideas don’t come as often as I like, but, sometimes, somewhere inside my brain an idea is born, and then I find myself writing inside this little white box. Once I’ve got an idea, I go into a state of what can best be described as flow. Once I’ve got that idea it’s all a blur. Everything just flows. There’s no push. There’s no friction. The words just pour out of me so easily. It is a pleasure.
I have finally found the equivalent to my mother playing her violin in the warm living room night after night after night. It’s me, writing to you, night after night. I’m happy that my mother has her thing and I have mine.
To anyone who is reading this, I hope you realize that you’re a big part of my thing. And I hope you’ve found your thing, too.
I’ve never been much of a resolution maker. I do decide to make changes throughout the year, but I don’t tend to make resolutions during a specific time, such as at the turn of the year.
The standard new year resolutions are to quit smoking, stop excessive drinking, lose weight, and get physically fit. Thankfully, I don’t have many external vices (me being a non-drinking, non-smoking, non-gambling, non-meat-eating gal), although losing weight and getting physically fit are certainly wise ideas for most of us.
No, I seem to have a handle on the external world just fine. It’s my internal world that is unable to be controlled as well as I’d like it to be.
They’re not resolutions per se, but I have been working on the following for the last six months:
I have pretty much failed on all accounts, but not for lack of trying. I suppose it’s just that my three non-resolution resolutions all involve trying to train my brain to do other than what it instinctively does, and, by George, that is hard to do. Not impossible, but hard!
Do you make resolutions? Are they worth doing? And, lastly, how do you control your brain when you want it to take cues from someone else’s more laid-back brain?
