Dear Bloggers,
Being in gray areas are so uncomfortable sometimes. There are usually a lot of quotes that encourages people that to become successful you have to work hard. But there's such a lack of advice of what to do after you do the work. You work hard, put yourself out there, spend endless days and nights working on yourself and your craft until you feel as though things are as perfect as they can get. Then, you submit your work, hoping for a way in, but all you have is... silence.
We know that loud noises can be startling, but silence is usually described as "eerie." People are so uncomfortable in silence that they'll do whatever they can to end the awkwardness. That works fine in social situations, but it doesn't seem to work well in business situations. Or, I'm assuming, what do I know? I'm still trying to work to get to where I'm going.
But let's be honest. A lot of times the reason that silence scares us is because then we're left with our own thoughts. No one is as judgmental on us as we are, and we know that. So, to avoid having our thoughts bring up what's wrong, and how we could have possibly messed up, we crave the noise to drown it out. Whether it's a startling bang or a whisper, we just want something to end the silence.
However, after you do everything that you can, you can't force someone's hand to move for you, for your own sake. I'm not saying that you have to stop working, but you should probably stop worrying yourself on something that you can no longer change. You did your work, you got it out there, it's no longer in your control. Now, all you're left with is... silence.
However, it all depends on what you do with that silence. Use it to strengthen yourself, your resolve, plan for a possible success or failure, refocus your goals and hopes for the future. Silence can be overwhelming, but it can also be something that you can find comfort in.
Stay Encouraged and have a great weekend!!
Friday, October 18, 2013
Thursday, October 17, 2013
The Face Behind the Paint
Dear Bloggers,
One of the duties that I felt like I needed to do, as a single mother, was to make sure that my daughter had a social life. At the tender age of two, it was important for me to get her out of the house and socialize as much as possible. While exploring our new surroundings we discovered an event that happens every third Thursday, which is "Diva Night."
A time where women meet in downtown, explore the shops, and possibly win prizes. The first time we went I was expecting more mother-daughter duos, but we were the only one. I began to think that it wouldn't be worth it, and we should just continue making friends at the park, library, and fast food play areas. But, when I saw how much her face would light up in the crowd, how much she loved the attention, the acknowledgment, I decided to make it a staple. Every other day of the month we are mother and daughter; but once a month, we would transform into Divas.
Putting her in cute outfits, and jeans and a t-shirt for me, we would go and parade around the downtown streets, enjoying the wares and stares, proving that no matter how young you are, you can be a "diva" too.
But today's Diva Night is a costumed event. I got my daughter's costume earlier last month. As she will don an elephant costume, I planned to gladly be the accompanied clown in our circus of life.
But today, I'm not feeling too diva-ish. Long nights and early mornings are been making me reassess my need to want to go out tonight. I began to question, was it Kayleigh who really enjoyed Diva Night, or did I want to so desperately prove to myself, and anyone else who sees a single mother and daughter, that we can have fun as well? If I were to put on my clown makeup tonight, what would be hiding under it? A person who is happy to engage with the crowd of baby boomers (most of the participants of "Diva Night" are a little up there in age. They're divas nonetheless though!), or someone who wants to fight the perception of what a single mother should be?
Diva Night isn't until hours later, and I have time to decide. But regardless of whether I go or not, my daughter will still have her costume to wear for Halloween, and she'll shine either way.
Stay Encouraged
One of the duties that I felt like I needed to do, as a single mother, was to make sure that my daughter had a social life. At the tender age of two, it was important for me to get her out of the house and socialize as much as possible. While exploring our new surroundings we discovered an event that happens every third Thursday, which is "Diva Night."
A time where women meet in downtown, explore the shops, and possibly win prizes. The first time we went I was expecting more mother-daughter duos, but we were the only one. I began to think that it wouldn't be worth it, and we should just continue making friends at the park, library, and fast food play areas. But, when I saw how much her face would light up in the crowd, how much she loved the attention, the acknowledgment, I decided to make it a staple. Every other day of the month we are mother and daughter; but once a month, we would transform into Divas.
Putting her in cute outfits, and jeans and a t-shirt for me, we would go and parade around the downtown streets, enjoying the wares and stares, proving that no matter how young you are, you can be a "diva" too.
But today's Diva Night is a costumed event. I got my daughter's costume earlier last month. As she will don an elephant costume, I planned to gladly be the accompanied clown in our circus of life.
But today, I'm not feeling too diva-ish. Long nights and early mornings are been making me reassess my need to want to go out tonight. I began to question, was it Kayleigh who really enjoyed Diva Night, or did I want to so desperately prove to myself, and anyone else who sees a single mother and daughter, that we can have fun as well? If I were to put on my clown makeup tonight, what would be hiding under it? A person who is happy to engage with the crowd of baby boomers (most of the participants of "Diva Night" are a little up there in age. They're divas nonetheless though!), or someone who wants to fight the perception of what a single mother should be?
Diva Night isn't until hours later, and I have time to decide. But regardless of whether I go or not, my daughter will still have her costume to wear for Halloween, and she'll shine either way.
Stay Encouraged
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Stop Comparing Yourself
Dear Bloggers,
There are a lot of things that can stop you from progressing in life, and a large majority of those things are from our own doing. One of the things that I have had to struggle with, while pursuing this new direction in my career, is with comparing myself to others.
When I first decided to make this change in my life I did as much research as possible. I bought books, studied, and also looked at the background of some of my favorite movers and shakers in the business that I'm trying to get into. I felt like I was ready, and once I sat down to start working (to get into the business) that's when all of the knowledge of these people began to haunt me). I began to look at their credentials and their career choices and began to doubt my own abilities. So many of these people came from Ivy League schools, and even though I cherish the degree I got from the University of Illinois, would it measure up?
I then began to look at their work and began to get scared. These people are geniuses, could I even measure up? I began to look at my work compared to theirs and feel as though I wasn't clever enough, smart enough, don't have enough obscure references that only people from Harvard would get. But why would I? I didn't go to Harvard. Is it too late for me to apply to their grad school program? Maybe I can get an in with this profession this way?
After talking myself into a tizzy (and crying in the shower, so my tears will blend in with the warm water that came crashing down on me) I began to realize that by comparing myself to others made me almost talk myself out of my dream. I've dreamt about this since I was a child, but just started pursuing it the last few years. I've made amazing steps toward it, and I'm not about to allow myself to stop me.
I don't know how long it will take before I get to join "the team" of professionals that I look up to. But I do know that when I do, I won't need to compare myself, because within that "team," I will always stand out as "me".
Stay Encouraged
There are a lot of things that can stop you from progressing in life, and a large majority of those things are from our own doing. One of the things that I have had to struggle with, while pursuing this new direction in my career, is with comparing myself to others.
When I first decided to make this change in my life I did as much research as possible. I bought books, studied, and also looked at the background of some of my favorite movers and shakers in the business that I'm trying to get into. I felt like I was ready, and once I sat down to start working (to get into the business) that's when all of the knowledge of these people began to haunt me). I began to look at their credentials and their career choices and began to doubt my own abilities. So many of these people came from Ivy League schools, and even though I cherish the degree I got from the University of Illinois, would it measure up?
I then began to look at their work and began to get scared. These people are geniuses, could I even measure up? I began to look at my work compared to theirs and feel as though I wasn't clever enough, smart enough, don't have enough obscure references that only people from Harvard would get. But why would I? I didn't go to Harvard. Is it too late for me to apply to their grad school program? Maybe I can get an in with this profession this way?
After talking myself into a tizzy (and crying in the shower, so my tears will blend in with the warm water that came crashing down on me) I began to realize that by comparing myself to others made me almost talk myself out of my dream. I've dreamt about this since I was a child, but just started pursuing it the last few years. I've made amazing steps toward it, and I'm not about to allow myself to stop me.
I don't know how long it will take before I get to join "the team" of professionals that I look up to. But I do know that when I do, I won't need to compare myself, because within that "team," I will always stand out as "me".
Stay Encouraged
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Encouraging Yourself
Dear Bloggers,
You know that great friend that you have? You know the one! The one that will lift you up when you're feeling down, affirm your greatness when you're questioning your own abilities, and talk you off of your emotional ledge when you feel as though you've talked yourself into a tizzy?
Well, that's me, and most likely you as well (I like to think that the people who read my blog are nice people, not ultimate douchebags). I always find the dynamic of being able to help someone with either just listening, or helping them to maneuver their own way through their emotional hills to be an empowering experience; but also a sad one at the same time.
For the life of me I'll never fully understand why some of the very intelligent and encouraging people in my life will doubt their own abilities to greatness. I find myself with the desire to have them look in the mirror or their past work and let them see all the things that I see. Why can't you see how great you are?
It's not until having one of the many talks with my sister Kelli that I realized that I was doing the same thing to myself. I'm going out on a limb with my life and my career and hoping, praying, and working toward getting to my goal. But, I have my moments of wanting to stop, because of the fear that I'm not good enough, or "how could I compete with the same people that I look up to?" Fearing the silence that comes with waiting on either an acceptance or a rejection, I found myself needing the reassurance of the people close to me that I can do this; I am worthy of pursuing this dream, and being reminded that I am good at what I do. Why can't you see how great you are?
I realized that though I'm a great friend to others, I was an ultimate douchebag to myself (...that felt very weird typing that out...). I would be so loving and caring to my friends' and family's problems, but with my own I would be the person who would not only bring up my insincerities, but encourage them.
I know that as humans we have a tendency to be harder on ourselves than anyone else, but sometimes we need to allow ourselves some grace. We need to know that we are worthy of reaching, seeking, and accepting our dreams. You were giving that drive, that motivation, that talent for a reason, and it's not fair to yourself to ignore it. It's also not fair to me to tell everyone else but me.
I have a date with my mirror.
Stay Encouraged!!
You know that great friend that you have? You know the one! The one that will lift you up when you're feeling down, affirm your greatness when you're questioning your own abilities, and talk you off of your emotional ledge when you feel as though you've talked yourself into a tizzy?
Well, that's me, and most likely you as well (I like to think that the people who read my blog are nice people, not ultimate douchebags). I always find the dynamic of being able to help someone with either just listening, or helping them to maneuver their own way through their emotional hills to be an empowering experience; but also a sad one at the same time.
For the life of me I'll never fully understand why some of the very intelligent and encouraging people in my life will doubt their own abilities to greatness. I find myself with the desire to have them look in the mirror or their past work and let them see all the things that I see. Why can't you see how great you are?
It's not until having one of the many talks with my sister Kelli that I realized that I was doing the same thing to myself. I'm going out on a limb with my life and my career and hoping, praying, and working toward getting to my goal. But, I have my moments of wanting to stop, because of the fear that I'm not good enough, or "how could I compete with the same people that I look up to?" Fearing the silence that comes with waiting on either an acceptance or a rejection, I found myself needing the reassurance of the people close to me that I can do this; I am worthy of pursuing this dream, and being reminded that I am good at what I do. Why can't you see how great you are?
I realized that though I'm a great friend to others, I was an ultimate douchebag to myself (...that felt very weird typing that out...). I would be so loving and caring to my friends' and family's problems, but with my own I would be the person who would not only bring up my insincerities, but encourage them.
I know that as humans we have a tendency to be harder on ourselves than anyone else, but sometimes we need to allow ourselves some grace. We need to know that we are worthy of reaching, seeking, and accepting our dreams. You were giving that drive, that motivation, that talent for a reason, and it's not fair to yourself to ignore it. It's also not fair to me to tell everyone else but me.
I have a date with my mirror.
Stay Encouraged!!
Monday, October 14, 2013
Three Lefts to Go Right
Dear Bloggers,
There are times when thinking about America's history can sometimes freak me out. When you boil down our history to the essence, it's essentially a land that was built on the blood, betrayal, and tears of so many innocent people. It's unfair to think that the strong survived, because they did so with such tyrannical methods, but these horrendous acts are what make up the genesis of the United States.
The reason why this can sometimes concern me, especially on this day, Columbus Day, is that my mind constantly goes back to the saying that "history repeats itself." As time has progressed I know that there have been laws, treaties, conventions and doctrines to try to prevent the past genocides from happening again. The United States has built itself up where we're not afforded the luxury of such poor decisions, but has built itself up to be a stronger, more prosperous union.
Though no one is perfect, and disappointments will inevitably come, history doesn't necessarily have to repeat itself. But, my concern that people can so blindly go along the grain to avoid persecution, while inflicting pain on the innocent still holds firm, and is what essentially what caused me to go in a different direction than I expected.
My life has changed so drastically since my last personal post. I've never been one to be ashamed of whatever direction my life has went down, but I'll admit that it was hard, initially, to realize that the last time I wrote I was very much married and in love.
As true as those feelings were, the feelings you begin to feel as a union is beginning to wind down are very much true as well.
As open of a person as I am, I'm not too keen on discussing things when they're happening, and I found myself trying to find peace, encouragement, and solace on my own. I ventured to go the easy way, going with the grain, to avoid the verbal assault from those who question the actions and behaviors of single mothers.
My daughter, in all of her adorableness, was ever present to the journey. Not really knowing what to say, or really knowing what was going on, she was able to be a compass for me. Allowing me to see a direction that I should go down that I was initially too afraid to.
While assessing if I was able to do everything on my own, I realized that I was in a situation that was no longer about me. It was my child. I wasn't afforded the luxury of just sitting back and blindly following with the way that I felt I was supposed to go, because my daughter would essentially be the victim of a history that was slowly being replaced with hurt, anger and pain. I didn't want that to continue to be her present, and then go on to be her future.
So, I left. Leaving the pain of a love that once was, to venture to the unsure future that is "single motherhood," I have to be honest, I'm happy with my decision. I have been able to rebuild my life in a way that would allow me to be a stronger, prosperous person; and even though the history of my life has been founded upon horrendous acts, the laws, treaties and doctrines that I have set up for myself has proved invaluable. I know that history has a tendency to repeat itself, but at the same time, having my daughter doesn't allow that luxury, and neither does my happiness.
Stay Encouraged, and enjoy your Columbus Day
There are times when thinking about America's history can sometimes freak me out. When you boil down our history to the essence, it's essentially a land that was built on the blood, betrayal, and tears of so many innocent people. It's unfair to think that the strong survived, because they did so with such tyrannical methods, but these horrendous acts are what make up the genesis of the United States.
The reason why this can sometimes concern me, especially on this day, Columbus Day, is that my mind constantly goes back to the saying that "history repeats itself." As time has progressed I know that there have been laws, treaties, conventions and doctrines to try to prevent the past genocides from happening again. The United States has built itself up where we're not afforded the luxury of such poor decisions, but has built itself up to be a stronger, more prosperous union.
Though no one is perfect, and disappointments will inevitably come, history doesn't necessarily have to repeat itself. But, my concern that people can so blindly go along the grain to avoid persecution, while inflicting pain on the innocent still holds firm, and is what essentially what caused me to go in a different direction than I expected.
My life has changed so drastically since my last personal post. I've never been one to be ashamed of whatever direction my life has went down, but I'll admit that it was hard, initially, to realize that the last time I wrote I was very much married and in love.
As true as those feelings were, the feelings you begin to feel as a union is beginning to wind down are very much true as well.
As open of a person as I am, I'm not too keen on discussing things when they're happening, and I found myself trying to find peace, encouragement, and solace on my own. I ventured to go the easy way, going with the grain, to avoid the verbal assault from those who question the actions and behaviors of single mothers.
My daughter, in all of her adorableness, was ever present to the journey. Not really knowing what to say, or really knowing what was going on, she was able to be a compass for me. Allowing me to see a direction that I should go down that I was initially too afraid to.
While assessing if I was able to do everything on my own, I realized that I was in a situation that was no longer about me. It was my child. I wasn't afforded the luxury of just sitting back and blindly following with the way that I felt I was supposed to go, because my daughter would essentially be the victim of a history that was slowly being replaced with hurt, anger and pain. I didn't want that to continue to be her present, and then go on to be her future.
So, I left. Leaving the pain of a love that once was, to venture to the unsure future that is "single motherhood," I have to be honest, I'm happy with my decision. I have been able to rebuild my life in a way that would allow me to be a stronger, prosperous person; and even though the history of my life has been founded upon horrendous acts, the laws, treaties and doctrines that I have set up for myself has proved invaluable. I know that history has a tendency to repeat itself, but at the same time, having my daughter doesn't allow that luxury, and neither does my happiness.
Stay Encouraged, and enjoy your Columbus Day
Thursday, June 20, 2013
When I Knew I Was a Writer
Dear Bloggers,
I've been saying that I was going to start back posting regularly. I found out about this blog competition: "Writing Contest: You Are a Writer," and figured that I would use this to get me back to my blogging roots:
I first learned I was a writer in first grade. After living through a lot of the craziness in Mobile, Alabama, my mother moved her, myself and three siblings to East St. Louis, IL, in an effort to get our lives back on track.
We moved in with our grandmother and the host of other relatives and foster children that lived there, and I started going to elementary school.
As a child, I've always had a bad habit of procrastinating and this time was no different. My teacher told the class that there was a mandatory writing competition for first graders up to fourth graders. It was optional for fifth and sixth graders. But everyone had to have their "Young Author" books in by a certain date. In normal Kendra-fashion, I put it off, telling myself, "I'll get it in in time."
On a Friday the teacher reminded the last two of us in the class who hadn't turned in our books that we had the weekend to finally finish our stories, but they had to be turned in on Monday.
I got home that night, did my homework and decided to leave the book to do on Sunday. I had important things to do, like watch cartoons, or "The Love Connection" with my grandmother.
Monday morning I woke up feeling extremely refreshed, and before everyone else in the house. I took a nice long bath, got dressed, ate breakfast, and then sat down and wait for everyone else to get on my level. When everyone woke up, it was the normal mad-dash of people getting ready and fighting over the bathroom. Like the boss I felt I was I sat and provided color commentary to all the commotion.
While teasing one of my sisters it hit me like an asteroid: CRAP! I FORGOT TO WRITE THAT STUPID BOOK! Panicked, I grabbed a random notebook that was on the couch and ripped out about five to seven sheets of paper and folded them in half. Then I went to a corner and just started scribbling down a story. I didn't care what was on the paper, I just needed something, so I wrote about our move from Alabama. However, whenever someone in my family came around I would hide the book and pretend like I wasn't doing anything. When they would try to hold a conversation with me, I would internally yell: "Get away from me! I'm trying to do my homework!"
But, I wasn't as smooth as I realized because my mother caught me. Instead of being mad (which I just knew she was going to be) she grabbed a handful of crayons and escorted me to the car. When we got to the school she allowed me to sit in the car and color my illustrations. When I got out, she wished me luck, but also gave me a stern warning of: "See, this is what happens when you procrastinate. Don't let it happen again."
I walked into my classroom right when the bell rung, handed my teacher my story and felt like I could breathe again.
I totally forgot about it all until one random morning my teacher told me that she wanted to talk to me during lunch. That's what she always said to the bad students, and I dreaded what she had to say. Racking my brain, I panicked with trying to figure out what I did wrong. Lunch time came and I went to her, lips quivering, slightly shaking, and feeling like I could pass out at any time. She began to ask me questions about the story. After I told her my answers she took me to the principal's office where my oldest sister, Amber, was there as well. They began grilling both of us. The entire time I'm thinking: Will they stop asking me questions about the story and tell me what I did wrong, so I can cry and tell them I'm sorry?! They then called my mother on speaker phone and I knew I was done. This is it. They're going to tell my mother I blew up an orphanage.
While they questioned my mother about if she participated with me writing the book (which she adamantly exclaimed: "No, that was all on Kendra. I told her not to procrastinate! Is she in trouble?") They finally told me that I came in second place in the writing competition.
A myriad of emotions hit me, like: Y'all did all of this just to tell me that I came in second?! It wasn't until they revealed the full magnitude of it that it began to sink it. The person who won first place was a sixth grader. So, this first grader, who wrote this book about twenty minutes before leaving to go to school beat out everyone from first grade to fourth (including my two sisters) and the fifth and sixth graders (except for one) who opted to do this? These students who actually gave time to it, who were tenacious, and didn't sit in a corner fighting back tears fearing that they were going to get caught for procrastinating. I beat them?!
For some reason I began to feel a peace come over me. Growing up I had a stuttering problem, and communication was always very difficult for me. When you have a speaking difficulty, people begin to believe that you have a learning disorder as well. So I was always talked down to, and made to feel as though I was lesser than my two older sisters. Also, being the third out of four sisters I was constantly compared to my siblings. Amber and Kelli were deemed the smart ones, and whenever I tried to expose my intelligence I would get a pat on the back and a gentle push in the opposite direction to let me know that talking wasn't what I was supposed to do.
I knew I had so much to say, but didn't know how I could say it. It wasn't until I came in second in that competition that I found where I belong.
Because my school's administration was so impressed by my age, they entered my book in a larger writing competition and it won fourth within the district's. It made me feel so proud of myself, and validated that I might not be my sisters, but I am a writer.
Stay Encouraged!!
I've been saying that I was going to start back posting regularly. I found out about this blog competition: "Writing Contest: You Are a Writer," and figured that I would use this to get me back to my blogging roots:
I first learned I was a writer in first grade. After living through a lot of the craziness in Mobile, Alabama, my mother moved her, myself and three siblings to East St. Louis, IL, in an effort to get our lives back on track.
We moved in with our grandmother and the host of other relatives and foster children that lived there, and I started going to elementary school.
As a child, I've always had a bad habit of procrastinating and this time was no different. My teacher told the class that there was a mandatory writing competition for first graders up to fourth graders. It was optional for fifth and sixth graders. But everyone had to have their "Young Author" books in by a certain date. In normal Kendra-fashion, I put it off, telling myself, "I'll get it in in time."
On a Friday the teacher reminded the last two of us in the class who hadn't turned in our books that we had the weekend to finally finish our stories, but they had to be turned in on Monday.
I got home that night, did my homework and decided to leave the book to do on Sunday. I had important things to do, like watch cartoons, or "The Love Connection" with my grandmother.
Monday morning I woke up feeling extremely refreshed, and before everyone else in the house. I took a nice long bath, got dressed, ate breakfast, and then sat down and wait for everyone else to get on my level. When everyone woke up, it was the normal mad-dash of people getting ready and fighting over the bathroom. Like the boss I felt I was I sat and provided color commentary to all the commotion.
While teasing one of my sisters it hit me like an asteroid: CRAP! I FORGOT TO WRITE THAT STUPID BOOK! Panicked, I grabbed a random notebook that was on the couch and ripped out about five to seven sheets of paper and folded them in half. Then I went to a corner and just started scribbling down a story. I didn't care what was on the paper, I just needed something, so I wrote about our move from Alabama. However, whenever someone in my family came around I would hide the book and pretend like I wasn't doing anything. When they would try to hold a conversation with me, I would internally yell: "Get away from me! I'm trying to do my homework!"
But, I wasn't as smooth as I realized because my mother caught me. Instead of being mad (which I just knew she was going to be) she grabbed a handful of crayons and escorted me to the car. When we got to the school she allowed me to sit in the car and color my illustrations. When I got out, she wished me luck, but also gave me a stern warning of: "See, this is what happens when you procrastinate. Don't let it happen again."
I walked into my classroom right when the bell rung, handed my teacher my story and felt like I could breathe again.
I totally forgot about it all until one random morning my teacher told me that she wanted to talk to me during lunch. That's what she always said to the bad students, and I dreaded what she had to say. Racking my brain, I panicked with trying to figure out what I did wrong. Lunch time came and I went to her, lips quivering, slightly shaking, and feeling like I could pass out at any time. She began to ask me questions about the story. After I told her my answers she took me to the principal's office where my oldest sister, Amber, was there as well. They began grilling both of us. The entire time I'm thinking: Will they stop asking me questions about the story and tell me what I did wrong, so I can cry and tell them I'm sorry?! They then called my mother on speaker phone and I knew I was done. This is it. They're going to tell my mother I blew up an orphanage.
While they questioned my mother about if she participated with me writing the book (which she adamantly exclaimed: "No, that was all on Kendra. I told her not to procrastinate! Is she in trouble?") They finally told me that I came in second place in the writing competition.
A myriad of emotions hit me, like: Y'all did all of this just to tell me that I came in second?! It wasn't until they revealed the full magnitude of it that it began to sink it. The person who won first place was a sixth grader. So, this first grader, who wrote this book about twenty minutes before leaving to go to school beat out everyone from first grade to fourth (including my two sisters) and the fifth and sixth graders (except for one) who opted to do this? These students who actually gave time to it, who were tenacious, and didn't sit in a corner fighting back tears fearing that they were going to get caught for procrastinating. I beat them?!
For some reason I began to feel a peace come over me. Growing up I had a stuttering problem, and communication was always very difficult for me. When you have a speaking difficulty, people begin to believe that you have a learning disorder as well. So I was always talked down to, and made to feel as though I was lesser than my two older sisters. Also, being the third out of four sisters I was constantly compared to my siblings. Amber and Kelli were deemed the smart ones, and whenever I tried to expose my intelligence I would get a pat on the back and a gentle push in the opposite direction to let me know that talking wasn't what I was supposed to do.
I knew I had so much to say, but didn't know how I could say it. It wasn't until I came in second in that competition that I found where I belong.
Because my school's administration was so impressed by my age, they entered my book in a larger writing competition and it won fourth within the district's. It made me feel so proud of myself, and validated that I might not be my sisters, but I am a writer.
Stay Encouraged!!
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Cracks in the Veneer
Dear Bloggers,
A random tidbit about me, I'm a complete art junkie. There are few things that can replace the joy that I have by going to an art museum and spending hours looking at AMAZING works. From Matisse, Van Gogh, Renoir, Valencia Johnson, Grant Wood, and Jackson Pollock, I thrive off of seeing these amazing works of art. However, I don't have the opportunity to spend the time with my favorite artists like I used to.
While pregnant I couldn't wait for my daughter to be born, and for the two of us to go walking around the St. Louis' Art Museum together. As a matter of fact, I imagined a lot of things would happen after I had my daughter. I imagined that I would have a painless natural birth (meaning that I would be hopped up on any and all pain killers that they stuck in my IV), and once my daughter came out, the doctor would hand her over to my husband, and the three of us (me, with the body I had BEFORE the pregnancy) would look wistfully up in the sky as a light came shining down on us, encompassing us in our new family joy. Now, I'm not sure if this vision came from the drugs that was given to me to prepare me for my c-section, or maybe I had visions of Norman Rockwell happy family paintings dancing in my head, but it was a nice dream.
However, after my c-section, and the small shaking fit I had afterwards, I was taken into reality when nothing was how I had envisioned it. In life, we're sold an imagine of fantasy that can really set us up for failure. Like the still lives in the paintings I love, I failed to remember that these works were just a venue for the artists to express how they wish the world was, or how they interpreted it to be. Each vision is not necessarily a reality; and like the precious veneer of my favorite paintings, if not handled correctly, my fantasies of marriage and parenthood began to expose some cracks.
As I've gotten better at being able to accept my reality, and puddy up the holes in my new life, I've been able to pick up the paintbrush myself and decided to shape and mold my own vision of how I would like my life to be. I might not ever be able to dance in a meadow like Renoir's sisters, or dip my feet and play in Monet's water lilies, but I succeed in the portrait that I have drawn for myself.
This week, let's discuss!!
STAY ENCOURAGED!!
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