The Secret Project: An Observation

My writing has always gotten me into trouble.  Love notes intercepted in middle school, petty girl fights, party promises and late night ranting.  I just loved my pen and paper so much that I overcame the feared school counselor or the inevitable parent-teacher call.  Blah blah blabbity blah, I was in hot water...again. But despite the content, no one ever told me my ramblings were poorly written.  Guess there's something to be said for that small victory.

 Through my teen years I honed my talent to code meaning and avoid those embarrassing confrontations with authority.  I never wanted to be without my voice- or to curtail what I was saying because no one wanted to bear witness to the ugliness of adolescence.  I bought pretty books in which to put my thoughts, as if one would balance the other.  Ugly versus pretty. Truth be told my journals held all the unpleasantries of my formative years but they were contained inside pretty wrappers that looked lovely on a shelf.  Perhaps more symbolic of the real me than any vulgarity spelled out on a page.  We all have trials, things that happen to us, good and bad.  It's how we react to events that shape who we become.

I always knew I had a quirky dark side.  Most artists and writers do.  It is the give and take for talent.  I find it odd that darkness in the mature artist is celebrated, contemplated and theorized over, yet darkness in a child is not a welcome sign of a creative soul. Or is it the suffering in silence that turns a young soul into the artistic kind? As a child, I masked my trials and experiences. I coded them into all those pages with pretty covers.  Though I tried to voice them to the adults in my life, no one really wanted to hear it. But for years my codes have wanted to be revealed for what they really are: A triumphant will for survival.  No longer a secret but a story. A way to give tragedy an opportunity to heal. Not just for my own healing, but for so many others as well, artists or not. 

My writing has always gotten me into trouble.  Why should I stop now? 

LOVE  &  SECRET PROJECTS

Summer Teal

Twelve years of school are winding to a close, college acceptance has been achieved, and vacation plans are now pen marked on the summer calendar.  Relatives will be arriving this week for graduation celebrations and laughter will replace the hectic hurry of the school year.  The squalor in the parlor has been neatly tidied and I am left to contemplate the simple joys in front of me.

Teal has always been my serenity color.  It calms me.  Soothing as the sea and crisp as line-dried linen, I could swim in this color forever.  It is the siren shade of fresh starts and reminds me that I have two months before Baby Girl leaves home and starts her new life three hundred miles west in San Antonio.  I think of all the blessings that have paved her path and I am so thankful for the journey of motherhood. Teal was Baby Girl's nursery color eighteen years ago, so perhaps it's no coincidence I am craving this color palette today.

She is wood and crystal.  Stubborn, like her father, and beautiful (like her mother- snicker snicker snortle!)- she is a simple country girl with the complexity of prisms in sunlight. I don't worry about her going off to college because she is a traveler at heart- a student of the world and she is not one content to be confined.  I know letting her go is the beginning to her own spectacular journey.  So for the days and weeks ahead I will enjoy the simplicity, wander our vacation world, and enjoy every moment alongside the teal waters under the rotund Texas sun.

 

LOVE  &  LETTING GO

The Secret Project: Choosing The Right Guide

Once a secret project matures from an idea in infancy, nestled and coddled, into an adventurous toddler in need of supervision while experiencing new grounds, the need for a project guide emerges.  Someone to shape the project in terms of manners, obedience, and love.  For without guidance, the project is at risk of turning feral and doomed to roam a dark forest forever. Because this project has been a goal twenty years in the striving for, because I've been explicitly asked to NOT do this, and because I will have to spend an inordinate amount of time visiting my dark side, I needed to seek out a therapist.

I will admit I was ready to run at first.  Filling out paperwork in a sterile small room I had 15 minutes to myself.  Time to bail.  The moments ticking away like hammer slams, my shoulder blades burned with anxiety.  I need to do this..... I need to do this.  I've got this...... Ok I'm outta here! It would be so much easier to deny this project!  No nooooo.... just NO.  The door opens and I am trapped.  But I can still keep everything to myself, my locked box. I don't have to say a word.  But then nothing moves forward.  Everything remains the same and what needs to be spoken is denied a voice for another decade.

 

There is magic medicine in therapy. It is pure mental massage. I say, proudly, I have sought the help of a therapist at many key points in my life.  I can bear my soul without judgment, without prejudice and under strict confidentiality.  Therapists are like shoes- some look great but feel awful, others have a pillowy cushion that provides support in all the right places. I've tried on some fabulous heels that rubbed me the wrong way but the therapist I met today was pure Dr. Scholls! We chatted fluidly and had an instant connection. She has agreed to be my guide and I feel in my heart she is the perfect fit for my secret project.

A key ingredient for therapy days is a sweet reward; something I can look forward to after the hard working out of mental clogs. A gentle reminder to not take myself so seriously and that life is a journey where I can choose the course.  And let's face it, sugary prettiness appeals to the toddler in all of us!

LOVE  &  TOP SECRETS