Archives for the month of: January, 2012

I have been taking a photo a day for about two months now. I post the pictures on Facebook. Sometimes I don’t feel like taking a picture. But it takes two seconds and often the result surprises me. One friend told me on Facebook, “I love your photos of the day. They are always so lovely, AND they make me want to move to NYC.” She made that comment yesterday when I had stopped for a moment to notice this doorway.

But I can’t take all the credit. The filters at Instagram make my photos look artsy. Ten million people are using Instagram (is that possible?) Also, I’ve been dipping into the Effy Wild’s Book of Days, which is inspiring one thousand people to fling glitter and self-love around in pursuit of a daily journal. (I try for weekly.)

Everyone is an artist. I believe this. I believe we get an endorphin rush every time we create. When we run too — although I have not been running much lately. Humans are wired to love creativity and fitness. Being athletic and artsy are natural de-stressors.

I love the feeling of an inch of charcoal in my fingers or the swoosh of a loaded paint brush against the paper. I love the click on my phone’s camera. I love hitting the Publish button on my blog.

I just love making stuff.

the view from my office

This year I will notice the sun. My life is enshrouded in office dullness. I want nothing more than light — the shine and vitamin D of the sun.

In my sadness, in my busyness, I rush by, failing to notice the sun, the sky, the birds, the laughter, the people.

The sun is now setting; the day is gone. I noticed in a meeting earlier today how everyone ducked their head into their laptops as if their computer screens were a shield, protecting them from what? Each other? Very few of us made eye contact.

New Year’s Resolution: I will notice the color of people’s eyes.

I will be a people person, not a screen person. I will listen more deeply.

I often have something to say; I open my mouth quite easily. There is hardly a topic that you can mention that I don’t know one fact or have one statistic about. I have an opinion on everything.

I do not know everything. There is wisdom in not knowing, in noticing. There is quiet. There can be lulls in conversations. Usually when there’s a void, I tend to jump in. I hate the chasm. Like in a Harry Potter movie, a wide open space must be jumped across. But what if the wide open space simply was a place to meander, to linger.

I am so tired of being the engine that makes every little thing go. “I can’t do it, I can’t do,” I sobbed the other night when I couldn’t sleep. Yes, literally sobbed. The worries of my day multiplied, work worries times Chris’s decline times the kids growing up.

But what if I just stood at the side of the chasm and did nothing? I could stand there like a spelunker at the side of a cave. I have loved a mystery, an adventure. What if — ah, this is good — I saw my life as a quest?

I saw myself as going after something — I am Dorothy in the land of Oz, trying to find her way home.

I open to the chasm. I walk the yellow brick road. I am an adventurer at a crossroads. I am looking this way and that. I am listening for clues. For the sound of a waterfall or the barking of my dog ToTo.

I am not alone, yet I must make my quest alone. And when I come out the other side of the chasm, I can look back and think, I have come far, I have crossed that. Or maybe I’ll just fall into the fiery pit and be burnt to a crisp. That, too, happens in an adventure story.

But to see life as a journey, as a quest, this is the path to follow.

The WordPress.com stats helpers prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

 

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Syndey Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 11,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 4 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,070 other followers