lines in the sand
July 9, 2011 § Leave a comment
Have you ever dragged a stick through the warm weight of sand; etching a line to declare a boundary in a boundless space? This is where my thoughts are today. I keep debating what I share and where. Specifically, I am struggling with the vast space of the internet.
It took me a while to join facebook. I would wander on my husband’s account seeking out familiar faces, curious but cautious. When I opened an account my friends were largely friends whose paths crossed mine consistently throughout the course of my days. I added a few family members in an effort to stay in touch and eventually sought out a few faces from the past. Somewhere between intentional additions I had also accepted acquaintances as friends. The lines between people I knew casually and those I share openly were blurred making me uncomfortably aware of each sharing. I edited my friends in an effort to control with whom I shared freely, but there exists a subtle, lingering discomfort at the ease with which we accept strangers as friends into our lives.
The more I sought boundaries within facebook, I cast my eyes to the newly formed space of my blog. Finding joy in writing I shared this piece of myself carefully with only those I trusted with my thoughts; friends and family. I have attempted to capture glimpses of my children and reflect openly on my thoughts. Now I wonder if sharing so freely in this space is appropriate?
Today I am unraveling doubts to find my way as I struggle with boundaries.
counting
June 29, 2011 § 1 Comment
I came across a quote some time ago that comforts me when I attempt to measure something intangible. Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts.
Recently I looked to the tally of my blog count and felt momentarily discouraged. Busier days on my graph seemed to mock the absence of guests on other days and I felt a little lost in the space of numbered measurements. Which lead me to back to basics. What am I measuring?
In the beginning, there was only me. Even my husband didn’t realize I had begun to write. So why does a bar graph distract me from the joy of journaling my thoughts? What counts and what am I counting?
This is my reminder to myself to stop counting views as a measure of success and to remember it is the act alone that counts.
june
June 16, 2011 § Leave a comment
Sometime in December, perhaps even the First of January, I pause to note new goals that will inspire me through the cold, dreary months of winter. I nurture my mind and spirit with hope and possibility, something akin to resolutions. Last winter I began writing to no one in particular, but with a promise to myself to move forward. Today I am taking a moment to look behind me at where I began here (scribblechic) and where I stand.
First, when given the opportunity to define myself I remember feeling overwhelmed and unprepared. Without editing myself, I quickly and briefly stated: I am a woman, wife, and mother that finds beauty in simplicity. I am forever scribbling thoughts on scraps of paper and curious to share fragments of my life with others. The act of writing and sharing my thoughts has been both a gift and a challenge. I have gifted myself time in the space of my days to be still and document moments for another day. The piece of me that was curious to share has found joy in the process of sharing simple moments with others.
In my first post, I can feel myself grasping at the air around me trying to find direction. I love watching people with the same spirit I love setting pen to paper. Typing is simpler, but I love the feel of my pen sailing against the grainy texture of paper. In that first post I began with those basic self-truths. Three of my favorite ingredients to a beautiful moment are a pen, paper, and people. I am forever slipping into a stranger’s story and then longing to share my simple moment of humor, growth, or grace with another soul. I won’t pretend to know where to begin; instead, I will share these moments I scribble in my mind. I was trying to begin from a space that felt authentic. I remember expecting to share and reflect on others’ stories, but it was those of my children that have come most naturally.
In unlisted I tried to step away from an introduction by setting seasonal goals. I identified fitness, writing, something new (unnamed), and presence in each moment. There was also an early acknowledgment that I am organizationally challenged. I am still finding logic in my efforts to create order in my days, but I have recommitted to fitness in something new. I am going to return to this in a separate entry, but facing a new challenge and finding my way has given me great joy. Writing and being present in my days has balanced my joy keeping me conscious of my blessings. With each entry I am aware of the simple blessings of my life and the endless lessons my life as a mother has provided.
In looking back at these very first efforts to find a beginning in this space, I have found a sense of self and my voice. I am still learning, but the process has been a wonderful journey I do not wish to end.
graffiti
May 2, 2011 § 1 Comment
Stepping in to the shower I tugged the curtain back exposing a colorful explosion of words and numbers scrawled in the markedly flamboyant and determined hand of my daughter. 12345six78910… the numbers chasing one another across the tiles in brilliant blues, bold reds, and burnt orange; her tally stretching to 100 with six continually spelled out neatly amidst the numeric symbols, a simple nod to my daughter’s age. Words plucked from labels of shampoo and body wash bottles accompany her numbers; marketing and accounting scribbled in a child’s hand.
My daughter’s reading and math skills were slow to blossom, but her energy and determination ever-present. She captures words and numbers on papers and walls, with pen, chalk, paint and now bathtub markers. She pulls these ideas from around her, trapping each concept and making them her own; like a firefly nestled in a mason jar gifting light and admiration to those wishing for a glimmer of illumination.
I love her spontaneous sharing and for a moment I am delightfully lost to the unexpected graffiti in my shower; absorbing the light her joy brings to my days.
ink
March 30, 2011 § 1 Comment
My daughter began writing journal entries, in ink. When I saw her pen, poised over paper, I panicked and scrounged for a pencil. My instinct was to guard her work from mistakes, provide second chances to do her best. I almost overlooked the value of simple spelling mistakes marking my daughter’s development in to a writer and the beauty of her free-flowing thoughts captured, unedited, permanently.
I often find myself wanting to shelter my children from the uncomfortable feelings of frustration or disappointment. With every attempt to prevent mistakes, my children find their way around me. Sometimes they dodge poor choices and occasionally they stumble into disappointment, but always with independence and adventure. My children seem determined to teach me that I cannot protect them from their own experiences, there must be moments of unerasable error.
scribblechic 