Life in General

Balancing Act

Many nights, late in the evening, I hang out here at my computer, wandering aimlessly in blogland while Jim snores peacefully in front of the television out in the family room, and the puppies sleep curled up on the bed behind me, nestled in their blankets. I love meandering through the worlds and minds of other women, reading about their yearnings, their creative dreams, their struggle to overcome illness or grief. They inspire me, they provoke me, they make me gasp, and sometimes even cry. Invariably, I come across something that jabs at my psyche, that speaks to me quite profoundly at whatever stage or mood I'm in. It's kind of like the game where you spin a globe, close your eyes, and point to the place you're going to take your next vacation. I can be just clicking along, following one trail of bloggers to the next, like Gretel following bread crumbs in the woods. And then, a comment or a photo will hit me, and I stop and read words that resonate in my heart, words that evoke a resounding Yes! in my spirit, words that I could have written myself.

It happened just now, actually. I ran across this post, on a blog I've never read before. The writer was responding to an earlier post of her own, in which she discussed the difficulty she was experiencing maintaining a balance between all her responsibilities as a mother, wife, writer, worker, woman...all of the many hats we women try to keep on our heads throughout the day. The realization she came to, and the one that was my light bulb moment for tonight, was that balance is overrated. Life has to be a little messy for us to test ourselves, to allow ourselves to grow and change.

That's a hard thing for me - little miss perfect. I like to have all my ducks lined up in a row, a nice tidy schedule for my day (every day), and a nice tidy atmosphere to go about my day in. I have noticed, however, that some of the most creative people I know are also (quite literally as well as figuratively) the messiest. As I have been exploring my own creativity during this past year, I've found the rest of my life becoming a little bit messier. I've been fighting that all along, thinking I should be able to keep all the other aspects of my life orderly and precise, and maybe that isn't possible when you start allowing your mind out of the confining box it's been in and letting it do a some wandering into other neighborhoods.

I have become quite comfortable with the idea of allowing myself to be messy in terms of creative work, of letting myself play with words on the page and not expecting them to be perfect, of trying out some art and craft projects, and being happy with whatever the results are because I've had fun in the process. Perhaps I can try and extend this idea into the rest of my life as well, and not worry so much about getting all the laundry done each weekend, or having all my work reports written two days ahead of schedule, or going to the gym every Monday, Thursday, and Friday. Maybe right now, the best balance for me is just being satisfied with life in general, enjoying and expanding my creative pursuits, and not constantly worrying that I'm not doing enough to keep everything running perfectly smoothly.

Sunday Scribblings-Chronicle

He was young to lead the dance, but the whole village agreed Nazar was the best, his movement and rhythm always perfect as he formed the circle, quickly pulling the other men into formation, while the women stood by clapping their hands, wide grins on their faces, their black toed shoes tapping on the dusty earth. Only 15, Nazar loved the music and dance above all else, for it filled him with a feeling of joy and freedom that helped him forget the monotony of his daily work at the loom. It would turn out that Nazar had little time for dancing that spring of 1916, for rumors were flying that the Turks were on the way, and soon the men began packing their families and leaving the sleepy little village tucked into the foothills of Mt. Aarat. Nazar's father, fearing for the life of his only son, arranged secret passage on a steamer bound for France, where some cousins had agreed to take him in.

"Father, I cannot leave you and my mother behind!" Nazar protested, his mind filled with stories of the atrocities left behind by the Turkish army, bent on "cleansing" the Ottoman Empire of the Armenian people.

"You must go," Nazar's father replied, holding his son close to his heart. "We will follow as soon as we can, I promise."

So, smuggled onto the ship in a musty smelling steamer trunk, Nazar began his voyage to the other side of the world. It was a voyage that took him first to Paris, and then to a city in the United States, a city with a French name - Detroit - but with few other similarities to the city of light he had left behind. Nazar exchanged the monotony of the loom, for the incessant hum of the automotive assembly line. There were five children in Nazar's future, but there was to be no more dancing. And he never saw his mother and father again.

About this same time that Nazar was leading the dance, in another little village on the other side of the world, another young man was riding his favorite young mare hot and hard across the sweet meadows of Kentucky Blue Grass. The whole town agreed that Carl was young to have raised such a fast pony, but they were sure that this was the mare that would take the prize at the State Fair this year, and perhaps even go on as a contender in the Derby. Only 17, Carl seemed to be born and bred for horses, and his lean figure and flying dark hair were a familiar sight along the pasture land of his father's farm.

As it turned out, that beautiful mare wasn't to win any races that year. One hot summer day, and against his better judgement, Carl let Mary Mattingly ride the pony, for he could never resist the beautiful young woman's pleading requests. One look into her bright blue eyes, one touch of her soft white hand on his arm, and he was helpless to deny her anything. She mounted the horse with effortless grace, and set off across the fields, her long hair quickly coming undone from its pins and flying wildly behind her as she spurred the pony into an excited gallop. If only she hadn't tried to jump the fence, if only she hadn't been galloping so fast, if only...she might not have gone sailing over the horses's head ~ almost beautiful it was, the arc she made as she sailed throught the air~ before landing on the soft blue grass, which wasn't soft enough to save her pretty neck from being broken.

Not long after Mary Mattingly's funeral, Carl left for a city in the north, a cold, grey city called Detroit, for he had heard there was work to be had in the factories, making automobilies, those motorized contraptions that everyone said would someday be the only way to get around, and you'd never have to ride a horse again.

Two young men, who ended up in the same American city, at about the same time, coming from distant parts of the world. Their stories would converge in 1940, when Nazar's son met Carl's daughter, two young people with stories of their own, who would marry and continue the chronicle into the future ~ with me.

Creating Connections in the Monday Mug Swap

A couple of weeks ago, I signed on to particpate in the Mug Swap at Create-A-Connection*...and...TA DA! my mug has arrived! Sent to me from Diana, this bright red beauty will hold enough of my favorite blend Gevalia coffee to get at least one eye open in the morning! And (lovely person that she is), she sent along the matching red bowl as a bonus. Wonder how she knew I like oatmeal to go with my coffee??

Thanks Diana!

Diana also tagged me for the "six weird things about you" meme. But that's going to take some thought~after all, there's nothing weird about me! (LOL)

*Create-A-Connection is a fabulous new blog with daily topics designed to inspire our creative connections with other artists and writers. Connections like these are incredibly empowering, and the world of blogging is an amazing way to create exciting new parternships in creative thought.