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This morning, I came across a post about an article talking how labeling children as “gifted” is a detrimental thing.  I’ve said this at times throughout my life, and I was curious what direction this article would take (a similar one to the ones before: all children are gifted) and the thoughts of the person sharing it (giftedness is a type of neurodivergence that should have support and accommodations in the same ways that other forms of neurodivergence are receiving/beginning to receive).

I didn’t go down any rabbit holds with the article or critique, but did reflect on my own experience as a “gifted” child.  And this time, I reflected with the added filter that I could be considered (potentially) in an actually identified subcategory of neurodivergent humans.  Am I?  I don’t know.  That hits me as an existential rabbit hole that I might investigate at a later date. For today, I thought about my brief time as a “gifted and talented” student in the ’80s.

Honestly, I have no idea how they picked me to join that class.  I’m sure there was some evaluation and some conference that I have either forgotten or never paid attention to.  But, in 3rd grade at West Godwin Elementary School, I began leaving my regular classroom to walk to a room between the kindergarten classes and the auxiliary gym to meet with these kids who were in 3rd, 4th and 5th grade.  I remember how much walking it took because the rooms were on the opposite sides of the school.  I remember walking around the big gym that was also our cafeteria and sometimes auditorium.  I remember walking past the kitchen (I learned about that during the summer enrichment program that I went to (maybe my just younger brother and sister also went?)).  I remember walking past the library.  And I remember walking into a class full of kids taller and smarter than me.

But thinking back, I also know that it was in this class (not always the room) that I was able to begin exploring in a curious way and in a safe atmosphere.  The mode of that classroom was to provide us with parameters for inquiry and then let us inquire.  And those things that I explored have become the things that describe parts of my self.  Three particular memories consistently stand out.

My first and most deeply seeded and seated memory is of working in the greenhouse.  The gifted and talented classroom had an adjoining greenhouse where we grew begonias and dusty millers and oregano and tomatoes.  The flowers and decorative plants would be sold later on (I wasn’t around to participate in the sale).  The oregano was used on pizzas that we made right before the end of the school year.  And we would dig in the dirt and water these plants and be in the filtered sunshine when it wasn’t even recess.  I cannot smell potting soil or oregano and not be transported back into that place.  I can’t see puddles on the concrete in the garden center of Lowe’s without revisiting the potting bench in that greenhouse.  There is a plant that I keep in the living room that smells like spring soil whenever I water it, and I am able to relax into the solace of that memory.

My second and less relaxing but no less engaging memory are Spanish lessons.  Our entire classroom was labeled.  La puerta, la silla, el papel.  I wasn’t a natural second language learner.  Still am not.  But the entire notion that language was a code to be decoded was implanted in my brain.  The concept that so much of the spoken world was outside my grasp was not scary to my little person brain.  It was as enthralling as the night sky and the ocean (that I equated to Lake Michigan).  It made my world bigger but also just a little bit more understandable even if I didn’t understand the words.  I was imbued with the idea that people could speak in a way that was incomprehensible to me but that didn’t make them incomprehensible or less “people”.  No, my little person brain didn’t think in those words then.  But a door was opened for me by those label en espanol on everything (en todo?).

My third memory is the thing that truly made school my home.  No.  I wasn’t the kid that fought to hang in a classroom or anything.  I think that might have been my next younger sister.  I wasn’t a teacher’s pet.  Honestly, I don’t know if any of my teachers liked me or even saw me as anything other than yet another student.  Knowing teachers now, I suspect they did.  But I was very small and had a very timid life despite having a whole universe in my head and in my eye.  Still, when I think about places that were safe for me, it was always school.  And it was the “research project” we did in the gifted and talented class that gave me ownership of something in this world and place that was special for just me.  It was during this project, a pretty big one for little people, that we got to go to the library, learn to search the card catalog, make notecards, organize ideas, scour the shelves, ask the librarian questions, and just follow our little curious whims.  I did a research project on horses.  Of course I did.  And it spilled over.  When we would go to the public library, this school project spilled over into my desire to go look in the ADULT non-fiction section for books on horses.  The Ultimate Horse Book (from DK Publishing) was one of my all-time favorites.  I’d open that book up right in the stacks with a kik-stool as my table (so I didn’t lose the book’s place on the shelf) and look at picture after picture and read all the captions.

Those three things in that one class in that one semester (I wasn’t in the class for the whole year – not until spring) have shaped who I am.  We moved that summer to a new school system.  That new school didn’t have the same type of environment.  And, honestly, my third grade year was the last year of my childhood.  It’s hard to actually type that out loud, but it’s true.  But, that’s another story.  And this story is about a little girl that got to play in the dirt and water while she was at school and learn about la puerta and el papel and eat oregano on pizza and read SO MUCH about horses.  My take has always been (and still is) that ALL children should get to discover and experience those things and more from their education.  My take is also that I am incredibly grateful for that time, even though it was short, in the gifted and talented class.

It’s Good Friday in the United States which means that the Indiana State Library is closed.  That means that ostensibly I’m off work.  In reality, I’ve been up since 5 a.m. working on projects that I don’t get to work on during my daily work because of distractions and the many aspects of the job.  Please.  I know.  This is a bleeding red flag for several things including burn out.  

I am flirting aggressively with burn out.  Thankfully, I know that I will be leaving my position at the end of May to move to Virginia.  I mean, that’s something.  Right?  It means a lot of really good things.  It means that I get to live with the love of my life in a place that I love.  It also means that I will be moving away from my home state of nearly thirty years and away from easy contact with my children.  And it means that I am leaving the security of my job without the assurance of permanent employment.

It’s been stressing me out.  I’m already stressed out. And I’m tired of it.

And so now it’s time to turn the page on that and talk about another aspect of this next chapter.

It is about taking real risks.  It was a real risk to get married.  It was a bigger risk to get married while in recovery to a partner in recovery.  For me, those were risks worth taking.  It was also a huge risk to put my new “boundary making” skills to use and set deadlines for leaving my job and moving.  Again worth it.  And, it was a risk to both put myself forward as a possible contractor and then agree to that proposition.

But that’s what I’m going to do.  Take all of those risks.  I’m going to work as a contracted transitional ECDI coordinator for a year.  And during that time, I’m going to build some of my other skills and use my “time and place” to create a new structure of work for myself.  Something that isn’t about the meat grinder leading to burnout.  Something that aligns with those things I WANT to be passionate about.  Something that lets me get old but not obsolete. 

So, let’s see.

I should be writing an article about how the post and page builder I have in WordPress actually works against anyone trying to write some type of content. Apparently blogs aren’t for writing anymore. Of course, now I realize that I might as well pull up a rocking chair and start yelling at content creators to get off my lawn.

But I digress.

March 8 is International Women’s Day. That’s today. I’m a woman.

This is the first year that I’ve seriously taken note of International Women’s Day. Previously, I thought about it in terms of activism for fair treatment and basic rights both here and abroad. I’ve thought of it in terms of those women who used all of their gifts and competencies to do good only to have those efforts stolen and used as power currency by the brokers of such – by and large, men.

I have never thought of today in terms of myself. It’s always been external and abstract and too big and over there.

This year, perhaps because of my recovery journey, I’ve observed myself engaging with this day differently; with more curiosity and not just a little sadness. And anger. And pride (yes, that thing I was taught was sinful). And curiosity about all of those things.

I love being a woman. But it has not been without the knowledge that comes from experience that my agency is young and fragile even if I’m not. I am able to struggle for better (and it is always a struggle) because women before me demanded and made change. It is NOT because it was given to them or us. It has never been given to us. We paid for every bit with blood and pain.

For a long time, and even now sometimes, I only thought of myself as one thing – a breeder. That is where I was taught that both my curse and blessing lay. And because I was an adequate breeder, the rest of me didn’t matter.

And that, I think, is why I’m sad and angry. And also why I’m grateful and proud. Because my adequacy as a breeder has never been a measure of my value no matter what my society or others told me or what I told myself. Being a woman has never been an indicator of my value. It is just a fact of my being that creates a context to be in.

But, we are in charge of our context. I am grateful and proud of those women who came before me and walk with me now who know their worth. I am grateful and proud of those women who model that I don’t have to be dependent on external forces to believe in myself.

I have been small for a long time. It is because I was afraid that I wouldn’t be liked. It is because I was afraid that I’d be “abandoned yet again.” I’d be too much.

My gift to myself on this International Women’s Day and every day is the permission from myself to grow as much as I want to. To take up as much space as I need. To become more and more and less and less.

And that is the gift I hope you give yourself as well.

Glass ornament with tree inside sitting on desk

How It Started

This is not a story about how everything started.  It’s more about this specific project and a few things I learned during the doing. This project started with a gift from my son and daughter-in-law.  They gave me this beautiful glass ornament that has a tree inside of it.  I just so happen to love colored glass and this was one of those gifts that was absolutely perfect.  But…

The ornament is big. And glass. And I was pretty concerned that there is no trustworthy way to hang it without a real possibility of it breaking under its own weight. And so it began, the planning for some type of base to hold it securely and, hopefully, in a manner befitting how beautiful I think it is.

Pregaming

This past November, after Thanksgiving and several years of waxing and waning interest in consumer grade CNC lasers and with the encouragement of my partner-in-life, I bought an xTool M1 laser and blade cutting machine.  I might, at some point, write more about this decision but it doesn’t matter right now.  I bought this machine with the idea that I would be able to use it to create things which is something I enjoy doing.  I set about reading and watching videos; joining a couple Facebook groups; and trying some thing out. 

One of my first actual projects was to make Christmas ornaments.  I made some for the Executive Committee board members for Evergreen Indiana as well as my admin colleagues.  I also made some ornaments for loved ones that had a recipe worth passing down.  It was fun, and I was proud to be able to share these things.

Cut file for xTool laser

first layers of base dry stacked

Mistakes are progress

And that’s when the (almost) inevitable happened.  I started thinking “I could turn this into a side hustle.”  That’s something I’ve done over and over in this life.  I crocheted angels to sell.  I made cards to sell.  I made t-shirt quilts and jewelry.  I’ve even sold art.  In fact, anything that I’ve created has always been accompanied by the thought, “Maybe this is the thing that makes me rich.” 

I know.  That sounds awful, and I don’t really want to be rich (not exactly).  I just don’t want to worry about putting gas in the gas tank, buying groceries, giving gifts, or the myriad things that money helps with.  And I’ve always looked at those things I could do and those things I make as a possible mechanism to alleviate that worry.

As I was working on this base using this new tool that provides new opportunities, I was first thinking, “How do I make this thing pay for itself?”  I felt guilty for having bought this thing that I’ve been interested in for years.  And then it occurred to me that it is okay to just have hobbies for oneself.  I could play around making things with this machine until it falls to pieces and never make anything for anyone else or sell anything I made.  And it would be okay.

The Journey

I’m coming to a point in my life where I’m laying down a lot of the preconceptions (and, likely, misconceptions) I used as guide rails until now.  In particular, I’m laying aside the idea that my purpose is to be productive.  Does that mean that I won’t make things as gifts? No.  I enjoy giving gifts, and I enjoy making…and making gifts.  Does it mean that I won’t ever sell anything?  No.  But I don’t have to.  I can experiment and mess up and experiment some more.  

The End isn’t the End

When I started planning the base for this globe, the Tree of Strength, I thought I had a pretty clear vision of what I was wanting to accomplish.  It turns out that for all my planning, I didn’t really know exactly what I was doing.  Several times along the way, I had to make decisions about continuing, adapting, and accepting.  In the end, it didn’t turn out very close to what I determined would be “a success.”  But what did happen is that I made something something I’d never made before that did exactly what it was supposed to do – safely display that orb of glass.

Even now I look at it and think, “that wasn’t the plan. Thank goodness it didn’t go to plan.” Thank goodness every time I thought I could turn my hobby into a gig, it didn’t work.  Thank goodness I didn’t get consigned to the “artist” category or the “custom laser product” category.  Thank goodness I get to explore and experiment without the expectation that I must be productive or even generative.

And while I’m thanking goodness, thank goodness for loved ones who know I love shiny, fragile things.

Tree of Strength globe on assembled base

 

Cover of The Artist's Way book by Julia Cameron

What the heck is “the Artist’s Way?” About six months ago, I had no idea. I could think of answers to that question that would satisfy those not in the know.

Maybe it was having to come up with techniques to differentiate between the cup holding coffee, the cup holding drinking water, and the cup holding coffee. Something better than remembering the coffee cup because you just spilled it, but don’t don’t want to change your pants and aren’t sure how to clean the chair cushion. So the artist’s way now includes a coffee stain on the chair cushion and the smell of coffee permeating the next hours of your life.

Maybe it’s seeing roller ball pens and fountain pens and ultra fine markers and Sharpies and alcohol markers and colored pencils and watercolor pencils and your favorite Pentel Quicker Clicker pencil with .5 lead and India ink pens and dye pencils and still not being able to find the green paint marker you literally just set down.

It could be a lot of things, I suppose. But, it is also a fascinating and, dare I say it?, nurturing book by Julia Cameron. Despite it having been first published in 1994, and me having been both around the arts and in libraries, I was only just introduced to The Artist’s Way in the past year (literally 2023). And, as soon as I began reading it, I knew it was the real deal. And I also knew that I wasn’t ready to actually take the journey yet.

Why? Because I’m an overplanner and overengineerer (is that even a word?) and a chronic overthinker. The Artist’s Way is essentially a 12 week course meant to help creative people break through the overplanning and overengineering and overthinking by just doing something. And those somethings are fairly regimented and a little time consuming. At least in the way that I’m envisioning them.

There are two MAJOR components and then the actual “coursework.” The components are honestly some of the best things for all people I can think of. First, there are what are called “morning pages.” Morning pages are exactly what they sound like – pages written in the morning. According to Cameron, a person following the regimen of “The Artist’s Way” should just start writing whatever comes to mind, three pages, every morning.

I’ve given this a try and have only good things to say about it. Of course, there are millions of people who journal and the idea of having a writing practice is not novel or innovative. But, I guess sometimes we need to be reminded WHY it is important to not only know something but also do it. The stream of consciousness aspect of the morning pages definitely does take practice for someone like me. I tend to have an idea and then get fixated on that. The morning pages let me have the idea but have no expectations to figure anything out.

The second major component of “The Artist’s Way” is the “artist date.” It is a date you make with yourself. Creators do not create from bottomless wells of inspiration. Those wells have to be refilled. In fact, it is best that our wells are to the point of overflow. The artist date is a specific time set up by the individual to go do something on their own that captures their interest or curiosity. It can be very humble or extravagant and is completely self directed but also very purposeful. The goal of the artist date is not to create something. It is to purposefully recharge one’s soul and spirit without any need to accommodate another person in the endeavor.

So far, I got through ONE week of the Artist’s Way on my own, and then the responsibilities of life and many, many transitions (buying a house, getting married, preparing to move cross country, leaving a two-in-one job, figuring out life with FIVE grown children and their families)…well, that’s taking a second. But, I’m VERY glad to know about “The Artist’s Way” and to have my own copy of the book.

Since being introduced to the book, it’s been cropping up all over in my awareness. I found out that a friend has been periodically leading individuals through the course. I found out that my bonus son was in a book discussion group for it. That is exciting to me. It is exciting to see other people interested in nurturing and developing that creative spark we all have.

And I have “great plans” to fully embrace the 12 week plan put forth by Julie.  I’ve got my notebooks ready.  Now I just need to have a little more schedule space.  That’s going to happen as my jobs here in Indiana wind down, and I transition to living solely in Virginia with my partner (yay!).  In the meantime, I have taken to heart the ideas of “just do something” and “just write” and “just go someplace beautiful.”  There is a lot to be said for setting aside our own judgmental attitudes toward ourselves (and others) and getting over the paralysis of perfectionism.  As Miss Frizzle said, “Take chances, make mistakes, and get messy.”

You can find out more about The Artist’s Way course at Julia Cameron’s website.  If you want to buy your own starter kit that includes a morning pages journal, you can do that here and I’ll earn a little Amazon Affiliate cents commission.

 

Hello World

Posted 12 months ago by redavis

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” Lao Tzu

Here we are.  I have done the unthinkable and built yet another blog site.  There have been a lot.  I’ve been writing drivel on the internet since before LiveJournal.  There are Tumblrs, Blogspots, and others that I’ve forgotten about.  I tried out Medium before it got its act together (wait…did it?), and even thought Facebook Notes could be a thing (oh man, don’t ask me for stock tips either). 

I’d like to think this is different because I am different.  But, only time will tell.  I’m excited to have a place to share art and ideas.  I’m excited to finally be a person who isn’t ashamed to call the things I do “art.”  I’m glad to be a person who isn’t embarrassed by having ideas; at least not anymore.  While I don’t think I’m unique or better than anyone, I am proud of who I am. And, I have a sneaking suspicion that you are a person who can be proud of who you are, too.