There was a promo on the other day for an upcoming show; something about a TV personality having a bout with cancer and recovering. The celeb said, “My mom said to ‘make my mess my message.’ ” So clever! On the outside chance you are not bored to tears with my current posts about loss, here’s my mess today: I’m still showing up, and have come to accept — maybe even make friends with — my boiling brain that bounces around in the early mornings. So I just say Good Morning to my scary thoughts, do my meditation and get up and make tea. I often wonder what the insides of other folks’ brains are like. Calm? Serene? Adult-like? Confident? Am I the only one who feels wobbly? Unlikely.
I’m 70. Does everyone who makes it into these later years review their lives and have regrets and ponder the crazy side trips and wonder What-The-Hell-Was-I-Thinking? That’s why I love books and poetry. Literature is a reveal into a writer’s thoughts and feelings. I’m not so peculiar. So today’s commitment to myself is to sing my song. It doesn’t matter if it is harmonious with other folks’ songs. I don’t care if it’s pretty. It’s mine. It belongs to me. Grab your earplugs — I’m getting ready to belt.
[Painting is of a Trader Joe’s bouquet; the way the sun flowed into my living room and lit the sunflowers was lovely.]
7″ x 10″ ink, watercolor on paper = $90