color & style
January 14, 2012 § 1 Comment
Last week I introduced the subject of design as I began working with a patient and talented woman to create a more personal style for my blog. Behind each design choice I found occasion to learn something new about myself. I thought I would pause to note these moments of insight layered between lines of messages exchanged over color and style.
Communication is cluttered with assumptions, largely my own. Working with a stranger and attempting to define myself with broad statements of color preferences created unique inferences with color. Initially I wanted to create a serene space centered in neutrals that conjured calming colors of a quiet, isolated beach. I avoided this description as it felt cliché. Instead, I inferred with statements of color. I listed gray, brown, green, blue without naming the warm sands or tranquil waters in my mind’s eye. Lost in translation, I referenced a site dedicated to inspiring palettes and found myself drawn to combinations outside my assumed favorites, but amusingly familiar to elements in my everyday life.
Style is a feeling. Where I inferred with color, I gave long winded references to personal preferences trying to project my sense of style. I listed elements of design in my home hoping to draw on decisions I have already made. Wood floors, stone materials, contemporary fixtures; clean lines and earth tones. I elaborated by unpacking my wardrobe trying to accessorize my personality with articles of clothing. I described my affinity for a cotton t-shirt and well-worn jeans with flip flops and my grown-up standards of pencil skirts and tailored dresses; casual and comfortable contrasting elegant and contemporary. Like pieces of my home or closet, choosing elements of design is less logical and more instinctive; a personal fit.
When in doubt, trust my gut. Underneath all of my assumptions and expectations, shades of truth were written in black and white. The things I did not like were clear with knee jerk honesty. Even elements I specifically requested did not always resonate. I was tempted to question friends for guidance, only to realize I was hiding behind others’ opinions. Of all the lessons in this exercise, this one was most humbling. When defining myself, I turned to others rather than inwards. I look outside myself for what I can only find within. This revelation lead to exercises in speaking up and being patient.
Working with a stranger on a personal project requires honesty and patience. There are days when we say nothing and days we exchange messages back and forth mucking through details. Having never met and without a relationship upon which to draw assumptions, opinions are at once uniquely intimate and impersonal. We are not friends who can hurt one another’s feelings yet each design is personal. This lovely stranger offers me beautiful options and I look among them for a reflection of self, learning a little about myself along the way.
for joy
January 13, 2012 § 2 Comments
I was very young when I declared to my parents and a family friend that I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up. My step mother was an elementary school teacher and this afforded me the gift of visiting a school in the quiet months of summer. I have a deep affinity for the space of classrooms, knowledge resting among the walls and tucked in reference books for the finding. My childhood declaration was met with doubt and adult reminders that prioritized monetary gain over dreams. I did what children do, I hid my wish keeping it safe from judgment until it was forgotten.
By the time I left for college, my future was mapped with others’ shoulds: You should be an attorney. I studied in preparation for law school; choosing classes dense with reading and writing, subjects that were diverse and demanded critical thought. I was hiding among subjects that I loved; my spirit whispering over others’ shouts. I was immersed in books that inspired me, sharing thoughts among peers and professors that lit fires in the quiet corners of my mind.
Then, before committing to a career, I became a mother. Each day I wake to life lessons and opportunities to guide my children. I gather them on adventures into books that push at the boundaries of their world. My tiny students with unique needs perpetually lead me to structure spontaneous lessons to help them understand their world. I am inspired and challenged on a path where I am neither teacher nor lawyer, ironically spending my days teaching and advocating for my children as I navigate school work and legal rights in an effort to provide for my children’s needs. My childhood dream found direction in motherhood.
As my children share their dreams, I try consciously to celebrate their statements of self. I want them to listen carefully to the whispers that come from within and to chart their lives with choices that resonate and bring them joy. I try to do this with words married with action, here. I am teaching my children to make room for joy in their lives, while creating moments of joy for myself.
For as long as I can remember I have written letters. Quick notes passed in classrooms, summer letters to school friends, love letters tied with heartstrings, and dreams scribbled in the margins of my days. I write for clarity and for joy. My children know that I do this and that writing is an expression that brings me happiness and comfort in the way building with LEGOs and creating artwork bring them pleasure and peace.
Slowly, I have invited my words to become a larger piece of my life. I do this cautiously, carrying with me an uncertainty born of those early statements of self among family and friends. I began here, where few could connect my words to myself, sheltering my feelings of joy from judgment. I still hear others’ shoulds. Throughout my life others have said: You should write. Should seems to shadow my joy, expectations suffocating pleasure. I have begun to internalize others’ opinions of how, what, when, why I write as measurements against which I gauge my ability and validate my efforts.
Then something special happened. My husband discovered pieces of me he didn’t know between the lines of my posts. My son serendipitously discovered a post and kept reading, celebrating my words with a hug. My daughter exclaimed proudly to a friend, my mother writes. People I love began to identify me by something I love to do.
I know my husband wishes this act of writing could evolve into a larger piece of our life, that someone would happily stumble into my words and open a door to something else. I know these are logical wishes and that his faith in me is a source of love. I am still growing, learning and dreaming; uncertain how to define why, how, when, and what. I am happy for a place to store my thoughts, for my children, for some day, for me. I write to invite joy and dreams into my day.
misplaced minutes
January 11, 2012 § 2 Comments
Despite good intentions I find myself frequently squandering time on bad habits. The air around me charged with inspiration and heightened consciousness born of resolutions, I am revisiting an old nemesis: distraction.
Last year I passed a sign promoting a time management class. My first thought was, I wonder if I have time for that? Hesitation is a distraction that keeps me from moving forward, uncertainty replacing action. This year I will add momentum to intent.
Insecurity also keeps me safely on the sidelines. Destructive messages like I’ll look silly. I’ll make a mistake. I’ll fail. keep me mired in presumed inability. When the moment passes inevitably my greatest regret is that I lost an opportunity to try. I will not be distracted by negativity, I will be open to possibility. After all, What if I succeeded?
Perspective can be paralyzing when I stand in the wrong place. Often my mountain is only a molehill too close to my lens. A couple of steps in a new direction and the path is much easier to find. How will I get through this? becomes Where should I begin? Allowing a problem to distract me from my goals places a greater value on the problem. My dreams are bigger than my doubts.
I want to gather minutes lost to distraction and invest it in possibility despite uncertainty, try something new without weighing success against failure, and exercise intent that moves mountains simply by shifting perspective. This is my early morning message to myself, scribbled and shared for accountability.
call waiting
January 5, 2012 § Leave a comment
There was a time (high school) when I couldn’t put our house phone down. In fact, for a while I believe it counted as an appendage. Twenty years later, I don’t want to pick it up.
It isn’t malicious or lazy, I just don’t connect as clearly over the phone. Perhaps it is the awkward pause that sometimes occurs with my cell phone or the absence of expression. It could be the telemarketers and political calls that come to our house phone or the phone itself’s poor clarity. Instead, I have become a compulsive messenger. I make plans in e-mail messages and text messages to gather with friends where I can see their expressions and focus on the conversation without the distractions of my home.
There are three exceptions, my husband and two children. No matter where I am or what I am doing, if I hear my phone I look up to see if they need me. My own emergency red phone, a direct connection to three individuals whose well-being is directly reflective of my own. When we are together, I dismiss myself from a sense of obligation to my phone and center my attention on those same special souls. It isn’t that I don’t love my friends, on occasion I will collect a call when my house is restful and my family otherwise occupied.
Now then, as long as we are on the subject of phone use, I have a few personal no call zones. I try not to talk in my car, in a store, at a restaurant, in a school, doctor’s office; in a public space. I have crossed this boundary on a few occasions for my husband, son or daughter; on a rare occasion, for a friend.
When did I stop depending on my phone to connect and when did it become okay to carry conversations that are personal outside our home? I wonder this largely when I become witness to a conversation of which I am not a participant in the course of my day. This isn’t a new thought. My boundaries are not unique. In fact, I hope this is a conversation we all have at home.
To those friends for whom the phone does not ring, I hope you know that your worth cannot be measured in cell phone minutes. Leave me a message, I’m listening and I will call back.
