seeking to create

I am aching to create. I can feel it deep inside me, buried beneath months upon months of daily obligations and responsibilities. I feel it each time I pass a craft store and every Friday night when we pick up sushi for dinner at the restaurant that sits beside the huge, new art supply store. I feel it when I look at pictures and get that urge to just hop in my car with my camera and capture timeless, unexpected moments of beauty. Each time I drive past the old cobblestone building where I sat at a potter’s wheel every Monday night last summer…the aching grows stronger each time. Create, create, create. It is a mantra I feel deep in my spirit and yet I am not creating. Why?

During the school year, my reasons for not creating are legitimate. I simply do not have the time. Of course, I am aware that I could make the time, make it a priority in my life, as I have done in previous years. The only conclusion I can reach is that with all the trials and tribulations of the past several months, I have been left in a state of pure exhaustion. Perhaps denial has played its part as well. When having to deal with all the stresses on a daily basis, I simply would rather not think about it at the end of the day. And naturally, the process of creating will certainly bring all those emotions and stresses to the surface. So, at least in some degree, I do understand why I have been trying to hush this mantra to create.

Now it is officially my summer. Classes have ended until September. Of course I still have practicum and work and quite a few wedding obligations. But I do not have any excuses, and I am beginning to not want any excuses. And yet I am still holding back, though not as forcefully as before. I can feel myself inching closer to the edge, that deep desire to create growing more towards the surface each day. The only barrier now is fear…the same fear as always, that the ideas in my head will not manifest themselves as they are in my imagination. I am struggling to let go of that fear, to realize that my imagination is only the starting point, that the final product is not meant to replicate an image in my head. I am reminding myself that, as in life, it is the journey and the process that matters most, not the final destination. Still, my insecurities swell.

I considered taking another art class this summer. However, with my busy schedule of work and travel, it did not seem feasible. I would have had to miss several classes. And yet I do feel as if I need some direction. I feel a bit lost at the moment, not sure where to begin or what avenue to pursue first. Photography, painting, charcoals, mixed media…so many ideas flying through my mind.

And then there’s the need for inspiration. I find it each day when I sit down to read all of your blogs. Your words and pictures do inspire me tremendously, and yet I long to have that inspiration closer to me. It is hard not to have these creative bonds with people nearby, to motivate me, to push me beyond the fear. I wish desperately for a creative retreat with you all, my dear tribe of soulful sisters. But so it is. Reality forces distance. Nevertheless, I am eternally grateful to each of you. And until the days when I see your beautiful faces in person, I will continue to seek inspiration and motivation. I will seek to create.

in the spirit of fathers

I didn’t get to spend Father’s day with my daddy. With him being six hours away, it wasn’t possible to get away from work and the city for the weekend. Nevertheless, I spent the day with him in spirit (even if he didn’t know it). Talking on the phone to my dad and my precious Papa C, I wished I could morph myself those six hours southeast to the shores of southern Georgia. I longed to stand on the end of the pier, lowering crabbing baskets into the murky water, marveling at the sharks being caught by other fishermen. I longed to sit by my aunt’s pool, watching my granddaddy play in the water with his floating “noodle”, my daddy sitting beneath the weeping willow with his feet dangling over the edge. As I drove down the road, talking first to my granddaddy and then my daddy, I longed for home and the presence of these two dear men in my life.

Despite my longings, I enjoyed the holiday in the true spirit of its name. The boyfriend and I spent the day on the horse farm with his parents and once again, I was reminded of the comfort and joy I feel in their company. The small gestures of affection, the words of love, and the endless laughter brought a different, but no less, sense of pleasure from times spent with my own family. Watching the boyfriend and his dad reciting lines from “Caddyshack”, laughing in unison over jokes his mom and I could not share. In those brief moments, I saw the bond between a father and his grown son, and I realized the true blessings of having such a close relationship with one’s father.

I have always been a “daddy’s girl” (in case anyone needed clarification on that point). When I think back to the days of my childhood, I remember my daddy and I fishing amidst the overgrown weeds on the shores of various ponds and lakes. I still love digging through dark, damp, dirt to pull out the live, slithering worms. When my mind takes me back in time, I remember my daddy teaching me to drive when I was too short to even reach the pedals, sitting on his lap and steering the car down deserted roads. I remember the silly songs he would sing to awaken me in the mornings and snuggling next to him in church. I remember him smushing homemade hamburgers as flat as possible so they would resemble the ones I liked from McDonald’s. And as I got older, I remember the tears of pride he shed when I graduated from high school and then college and then with my masters degree. And still to this day, he is my most beloved confidante, my “daddy” and also one of my best friends.

With 26 years of these treasured memories, I know I am blessed to have such a close bond with my dad. His words and gestures of love and support and encouragement no longer amaze me, as I know this is just the man that he is. But in those brief moments yesterday of watching the boyfriend and his dad share the secret laughter of unknown jokes, I realized how truly incredible it is to witness the bond between a father and his child. In all its myriad forms, there is not much else in this world quite so beautiful.

Pulling out of the driveway yesterday, the boyfriend and I stopped to visit for a moment with our neighbors. A young couple with four small children, the whole family decorating their driveway in colored chalk drawings. The parents, both in their hippy spirits, and their beautiful children, all smiles and waves and big hellos. And as we departed, we saw the father with his children all around him, a huge smile on his face as he lifted the peace sign to us.

With so many of our own friends having babies, the boyfriend and I cannot help but imagine having little ones of our own someday. I can picture it all so clearly, this man I love transitioning into fatherhood. And I know that with the lessons and love of both of our fathers, he will grow to be an amazing “daddy” himself one day. Perhaps one day, many years from now, I will have a daughter writing words similar to my own. Words about a love that runs to the deepest recesses of her heart, about her admiration for her daddy and both of her granddaddies.

Whatever the future may hold, I know that there is one thing in my life that is constant and unconditional, and that is the love of my daddy. Every day I send up prayers for him, forever thankful that I have been blessed to have such an amazing bond with him. When the days are not so sunny and the clouds begin to darken the sky, his words bring light and his love brings hope for a new tomorrow. And as I turn and look at the man beside me, the one with whom I am sharing my life, I know that I have been blessed yet again. And I know that the love of my Papa C and the love of my daddy will be a legacy that lives on in future generations and into eternity.

return from hiatus

I’ve been on hiatus, at least from the world of blogging. Many times I have found myself sitting before a blank screen, ready to write. And typically I do write during those times. But the words that emerge are not the words I imagined, the paragraphs disjointed and rambling in a state of messy frustration or mere dullness. I cannot seem to bring myself to post something that bores even me. If I am bored writing it, I refuse to subject others to the reading of it. And so, alas, I have been on what I decidedly call a “hiatus”.

The summer has arrived in full force, the sweltering heat and late afternoon storms greeting me on a near daily basis. After discovering that the pups are continuing to dig monstrous holes in the backyard out of a search for cool earth upon which to nap, the boyfriend and I have made the executive decision to buy a kiddy pool for them. We laughed today at the probability that he will often return home from work to find both the pups and myself lounging in the new pool. But believe me when I say that southern summers are unbelievably suffocating, even for those solar-powered individuals such as myself.

I have one more final next week and then I am officially done with classes until September. Two full months of no school…I cannot begin to describe the joy I feel at the prospect of a true summer break. Of course work will keep me busy and I am hoping to work a great deal more on my dissertation. But there will also be plenty of blissfully carefree moments to simply luxuriate in the pleasure of just living life.

For nearly an entire month, I have wedding activities scheduled into my planner. A bachelorette party in the city, a bridesmaid luncheon, a rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, and a wedding all in the first week of July. And then, two glorious trips away from the city, away from the stress. The excitement builds each day with more planning (for the irony of less planning and more relaxation). Only a few days after the first wedding, I will depart for New Orleans, an extra long weekend bachelorette party with friends from the early days of high school. Women that share my idea of fun, all of us far beyond the desire of spending drunken nights in bars and stripclubs. Instead, we have booked hotel rooms in a beautiful hotel in the French quarter. Our plans consist of lounging poolside, breakfasts of beignets and coffee, pampering spa services, browsing the local markets, and playing penny slots at the casino. We’ll arrive with thoughtful gifts for the bride-to-be and some sexy lingerie for her honeymoon in Antigua. Two weeks later, the boyfriend and I will depart once again, my hometown island our destination. A weekend of family meals, afternoons on the beach, and wedding activities with my oldest friends. The boyfriend will leave at the end of the weekend for work in Wisconsin while I spend three extra days with my family, enjoying my first trip home since before last Christmas.

In the midst of all the travels, I have set in mind a pleasurable personal agenda. Lots of reading, more frequent writing, and the beginning stages of learning Italian. Additionally, I am setting a few novel goals for myself, activities that will surely shock those who know me best. While the sis and I have plans to join a nearby gym, I am determined to begin exercising, at least in some form or fashion. And for this girl that relies on the microwave for nearly all matters of cooking, I intend to learn a few new recipes and attempt to enjoy the process of preparing a meal as much as I already enjoy the process of eating it. And then there’s art, my long neglected friend. While I can never claim to be an artist with my limited talent in this arena, I am eager to buy new canvases and dabble in some heavy acrylics.

Beyond all this, who knows what the summer will bring? Whatever it is, I am eager for two months of freedom and the simple pleasures of living life, day by day.