This picture seemed so fitting. And that, even before I read that they are doors from a lunatic asylum. I am currently painting door number seventeen. But seriously, this is the year that I lost myself. In family (my youngest baby is already eighth months, say what!), in moves, in renovations, in job changes. I don't do well with change. Live for and by lists. And must have order. So cramming all of the above into a couple of short months, should have been warning enough.
I feel like a thousand different voices are pulling me in equally as many directions. I always thought that my "get it done" drive was solely a strength and yet I only know realize I'm fresh out of strength. Rigid, unflinching grit can only keep you going for so long because it changes your outlook on everything and everyone around you. People become tasks, relationships become lists and flaws become greater. The beauty starts to slowly fade. And so why write? When everything seems the same shade of grey.
I'm more glutton than squirrel and I need beauty, wonder and fancy. To run and feel free. To look at a single flower and wonder how any one thing could be so beautiful. To look at my baby's crinkly eyed smile and not give a hoot about anything else, even the ginormous mess he just made especially for me. I choose family, freedom and the easily forgotten beauty of life.
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