Silence is Key

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Writing allows for catharsis. It gives us an opportunity to stand apart, to inspect our experiences and moments from an objective, third-party eye. Rather than just experiencing the moment with that visceral, first-hand, what-on-earth-is-going-on perspective, we get to ask questions: what circumstances led up to this moment? How did I react? Why did I react that way? What did I say, how did my expressions change? Did I gasp, start, raise my eyebrows? What was the angle of the sun-slant through the window? What shoes did I wear--why did I pick that pair? Was I sitting, legs-crossed, or standing, hands on my hips, mad and alert?

But why does writing down these seemingly meaningless details relieve the tension? How does recording the moment expunge it from our soul--if not completely erasing it, at least making it easier to bear?

Countless people journal, keep diaries, blog, write poetry, short stories, novels. Perhaps it is simply the mechanic motion of the pencil on paper, the rhythmic flow and scrape of the pen-point, or the ratta-tat of the keyboard, offering some soothing therapy. Yet I think the answer is something else: the key is in those questions. Writing gives us a chance to pick up a moment as if it were an object in the closet of our minds. Flip it around, turn it over, take the batteries out and peer at the insides--what's going on in there? We can break the moment down and recreate it again. And in the breaking down of the tiniest details--from the angle of the light to the lipstick you wore that day--we can find a tiny moment of meaning. The lighting can be a metaphor. Or the way you write a scene--adding imagery or dialogue--can connect your mind to your reader, drawing them into the moment. The moment, then, can be about truth and connection rather than just a confused jumble of firsthand emotion.

But then--here's the kicker.

Something happened--years ago--and you can't write about it. You've picked up your pen...more times than you can count. You close your eyes and pull the day back up to the light. And you start your work....you record--"once upon a time" "in the beginning there was." And then you stop. You realize you've got it all wrong. You know full and well that the event happened on a roasting summer day. You  distinctly remember wearing black and that dark shade being too oppressive for the heat raged that day. You remember sweating and the skin flaking on your shoulders later, burned from standing outside even for those scant minutes. Yet, as you sit and recall, you start to shiver, and you know, you know down to your core, that you were so cold that day. Why else would you remember goosebumps and shaking? How does that coincide with the truth--the August heat and sunburn.

My memory isn't flawed, in this instance. The real obstacle is this: I don't want to write about this experience. While I understand that writing provides an outlet, a release, and a way to take a bad experience and render it something good--a short story or poem capable of reaching out to another--I don't want to write  about that day. I don't want to write about the sun on my shoulders, the grass under my feet, the papers clenched in my fist, or the black sheath dress that I loved, but after that day, crumpled and threw away.

The simple truth is this: sometimes, writing isn't always the answer. Some things need to remain wrapped up and hidden. Not because I don't want to deal with them or because I can't handle them. But rather, because they are done and, now, should be left to lie undisturbed, at rest. Its just simply time to lay it down, turn away, and walk down the path laid out ahead.

And that, my friends, was a very hard lesson for the writer in me to learn.

If the Creek Don't Rise

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As part of my "be your own happy" self-improvement goal, I asked myself: What makes me happy? And, if I can... I want to push that question even further by then challenging myself to figure out how to take the things in life that truly make me feel accomplished and happy ...and somehow incorporate them into a career path.

Whew. That doesn't sound easy, does it? But I think its good to have moments of introspection, taking time to question yourself, to see where you stand and what you want to accomplish. Mark and I are still young and hopelessly new at this marriage thing. We're figuring it out in fits and starts, with a good deal of laughter and some tears along the way. I always appreciate when he shares his goals with me--his plans for someday opening a gym or his personal goal of hiking Mt. Rainier -and I enjoy sharing my goals with him. It gives us chances to question each other, help each other see things we may not have seen ourselves, and, most importantly, gives us a chance to support each other. I think together we can make our goals a reality--as much as anyone can. Like we Southerners say: It'll work out if the good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise. 

But anyway. Here are the things that make me happy, without fail, everyday:

• being with Mark- obviously. How many of you knew that would be first on my list?
• creating. Be it knitting, painting, writing. I love the creative process and the feeling of having something of yourself to share with others
• antiques-- finding, re-purposing, and refurbishing them. Its so fascinating to me to see what stands the tests of time--and to learn how people adapted without the ease and convenience of the technological advances we have now. And I love to take these little timeless pieces--especially if they seem like junk--and incorporate them into home decor, artwork, or even something actually useful around the house. Like an old tray into a message board, a metal desk drawer into a card holder, chipped old floor grates into metal wall art.
• writing- I know I just mentioned that above-- But I'm going to mention it again, because it really makes me happy. I often jot my thoughts down into poems (note that these are bad, unedited poems) but going back and seeing what I felt and thought at the time...and then taking that and distilling it into something with creative value is a really interesting process. 
• meeting and talking to people -- I love people's stories, where they come from, what they're up to. That's something I've always loved about the South. People will talk to you; they're willing to share and speak. If you pass someone on the street, they'll say hello and if you're lucky they may even sit a spell and tell you about their day...their week...their year and how their mama's doing. 
• teaching- I always enjoyed tutoring other students when I was in college. Helping them with their writing or English homework and then seeing their face light up when a certain explanation finally lifted the veil...and the information clicked... that is really a satisfying feeling. 
• music- Spending time at the piano, playing and composing songs. 
• horses- Being outside, riding horses, or even the simple tasks of talking to them, caring for them, grooming them. They'll stare with those big brown eyes, slowly blinking their eye lashes, and just listen to whatever you have to say that day. And if you're lucky, you'll get a litle nibble on the sleeve or velvety nose on your cheek. Its no wonder studies have proven spending time with horses to be therapeutic... They truly are good for the soul. 

That's basically what I have right now. I guess most of my interests are creative in nature, aren't they? 

Any tips on career paths from my readers? I'm open to suggestions--always! 

Have a lovely Tuesday! 

Together Forever

I've lived a life surrounded by many strong women. My mother, grandmothers, sister, aunts, friends, professors--women who live full careers, pursue dreams, and maintain healthy, happy families. They smile and carry on, even as they wear themselves out meeting the demands of the nine-to-five work schedule and the 24-7 mommy schedule. And all of them have, at some point, shared advice with me. Advice on how to live for others while maintaining yourself.

But you know the sage snippet that has stayed with me the longest? Don't rely on your work, your family, or your husband to be your only source of happiness. Be your own source of happiness. Or, as my mom often puts it, "You have to be your own happy." 

In these first few months of marriage, I have felt completely absorbed by this new life: moving, finding a job, decorating the condo, learning how to run a little home and manage a budget. Then, add in the rush of holidays and travel. And all these things sometimes feel in the way-- because what I really want to do every day is so simple: be with Mark. Just hang out with him, goof around, laugh, and have fun. I guess you could say we are already like a little old couple--because we already have our routine. Work, workout, supper, movie/xbox/game, bed. That's pretty much the basic order of things in the Hobbs household. Throughout that entire routine, we're pretty much side by side.

And that is something I've had to get used to. Mark and I lived hundreds of miles apart while dating. Our visits felt so rushed--Friday and Sunday being spent mostly in driving back home. I felt like I had to soak up every moment with him. Every second, because soon we would be apart again for two or three weeks at a time. Texts and phonecalls only.

But now, now that we get to be around each other constantly...it's hard to switch my brain out of that desperate he's-going-to-be-leaving-tomorrow mode. He will still be there in the morning; he will come home at night. I don't have to be completely devoted to and absorbed in every moment--dreading the approaching time when the will hop in his truck and head back north on 85. Because that moment isn't coming anymore. I can actually relax. If I want to sit on the couch and knit while he plays a videogame... I can. If I want to run get groceries while he runs on the treadmill at the gym...I can. We'll be home together that evening.

(I'm getting to my point, folks. I promise.)

I had a lesson in this shifting of mood this weekend. Mark's boss invited him to go along with him and some other employees to a scenario paintball game here in town. Mark's an avid paint-baller, even starting his own team with his cousins. So, of course,  the opportunity sounded great. But here I am-- still slightly in desperate he's-going-to-be-leaving mode. At first, I felt completely opposed. No! We both work all week--I didn't want to be apart on Saturday! We could hike or something, at least. Not to mention, I was feeling blue and homesick. My puppy had just been put to sleep and, even worse, a good family friend had passed away and long distance made traveling to his funeral an impossibility. The last thing I wanted to do was sit around the condo again, all alone, all day, missing home and feeling blue. Sitting is something I do enough of. Trust me, me and this red couch have a close enough relationship--since it serves as my official desk for this CSR work-from-home business.

I'm not going to lie; I felt pretty upset and sad. But at the same time, I wanted Mark to go and have fun--knowing how much he loves the sport. I felt selfish asking him to stay home; I felt sad telling him to go ahead.

So. I bit the bullet; he went. Luckily for me, I was able to spend the day with a lady from our church. She's become a good friend here in Frederick; always quick to have us over and very easy to talk to and laugh with. We had lunch, stopped by a home decor store, found some items for her  recently redecorated master bedroom, then just sat and had coffee and talked in her living room. And you know what? I had fun. I wasn't lonely or sad or blue anymore. I know part of that was due to good company-- but still. I feel even if I had stayed home and worked on my Etsy inventory or creative writing... I would have been okay.

Sure, I missed my husband all day. It felt so odd not to be right by him. But when he came home that evening, covered in paint chips and beaming-- I remembered that phrase: Be your own happy. I can't just be absorbed in Mark and our little home--putting all my store and energy in that and expecting him to carry the burden of being the only thing that makes me happy. No, that's not fair or healthy. We each need the unique things in our life that make us happy. Me--a good job, my creative projects, my writing, my painting. Him--the challenges of sports, being outdoors, working with his hands. We are two multi-faceted, unique individuals--we fulfill each other, but we are not solely absorbed in each other.

Being apart for a few hours, to do our own thing, made being together so much better. And its so great-- no more dread or fear of being separate, because in the end, supper will be on the table that night, and we'll be together.

So. That's my lesson this weekend.

Sorry for the longwinded-ness!