NaNoWriMo starts today.
See you December 1, 2011
Traveling today, so I thought I’d share something fun with you. The Evolution of Dance for your enjoyment.
I have been trying for 4 days now to write this next post. The words are not lining up in a way that would make any sense to you the reader. After much thought, I decided to share a project I’ve been working on. A friend of mine, Mandy challenged a bunch of us earlier this month to do a self portrait. Here is a picture of what I came up with. (It’s been slightly modified by an app I have on my phone to give it more depth and texture, which I couldn’t quite capture with the elements I had to work with.)
It’s a canvas that I decoupaged with various items, including yarn, glass beads, words, paint, fabric, and ink. It’s a mish mash basically, but a fair representation of where I am in life right now.
I also created a “wordle” based on the words I used through out the “self portrait”.
I’m not sure where this is going yet. It’s a new chapter in the journey of life. But this is me. More to come…
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, soul searching, and reflecting lately. A little of that is reflected in a recent post and more is to come in this post and possibly following posts. I don’t know yet how far this will go, or what it will look like. I’ve been hesitant to post this too, but I feel that there is something in all of this that needs to be shared either with someone else or it’s just something I need to get out of my system. Either way, here it is.
Moving to a new place (if you’ve followed this blog for any period of time you know the journey, otherwise you can read more in the archives) has been an adventure. Having been here almost a year, I can now look back over the journey and see with clearer eyes what has transpired.
I’ve been reflecting recently on the past year, what all has happened since we began our “Great Adventure” and where we are now. Or more specifically where I am now. And where I’ve been for the past 14 years. Some of you may or may not be old enough to remember the after school specials, and the campy movies that came out during that time frame. One that sticks in my mind (and there are many for some strange reason) is the movie “The Boy In The Plastic Bubble” starring John Travolta circa 1976. It was based on a true story of a boy who had to live in a completely sterile environment, hence the bubble. Obviously he had to live in this bubble for health reasons, and that’s not the point of this post. But it does help to illustrate the point I want to make. Have you ever considered you may be living in a bubble? It’s easy to create one, not so easy to realize you’re in one though. For me, I didn’t realize the bubble I was in until after we moved. I can look back on it now and see how insulated and in some cases isolated I was during that time. Some of it was self imposed, some of it was due to the area and the prevailing attitude of the place. When you live in a town where you are made to feel an outcast because you are not born and bred there, over time it tends to affect your view of life and yourself. Unless you are one of those people with a self esteem made of an indestructible material, at some point you will be affected by this oppression.
A little background ~ I grew up in Pittsburgh. A large city, where when I was a kid they bused us white kids to the black neighborhood to integrate the school, many friends were of varying ethnicities, a vibrant nightlife that I took part of for many years, and a variety of other influences, both good and not so good. Fast forward some years and I find myself living in a small town, in the south where (sadly) there were still klan rallies being held, in a completely unfamiliar place, new job that I really didn’t feel qualified for, and basically an outsider. You can imagine what it felt like – a fish out of water is not a far cry from what it felt like to me.
I made friends easily enough where I was working, since I was spending 14 + hour days there, where else I would I socialize. Thus, the beginning of the bubble. Add to that the nearest major city with any sort of decent shopping, restaurants, or ethnic groceries was over an hours drive away; another layer of the bubble is added. After a while, the job came to an end. The small company I worked for was bought out by a bigger company – which was a good thing and a not so great thing. Good because of a financial windfall, bad because so many of us lost our jobs. Good also because we were able to adopt our daughter, buy a house, and pay off our debt. Bad because friends that I had become close to moved away to find better jobs or other opportunities.
But now we enter the next layer of the bubble. “Stay at home mom” or SAHM for short. It was a tough transition going from independent, working and managing a team of developers who were relatively independent, to suddenly having someone depend on you for their every need. We had neighbors moving in around us, new houses being built, and new friendships were made. Other kids came along in the neighborhood that became playmates and classmates. Suddenly the world revolved around the activities of a child, no longer the adult. The bubble had changed, but it was still a bubble. All that I had dreamed of what pushed back yet again. There were hobbies that occupied some of my time, there were volunteer opportunities that allowed me some creative outlets. But the dreams of writing, creating, taking part in an industry that my heart had longed to be a part of so many years ago, was buried so deep, they soon became forgotten.
Please don’t get the wrong idea and think that there weren’t great times, and great friends as well, there certainly were. But there was something missing too. Something I couldn’t identify at the time. Something that would take me a while to realize, only after we left that place, got away from the bubble we were in, and began what was to become the next phase in life. More to come.
(Not to be confused with the Miley Cyrus tour that just wrapped in Australia – if you came here looking for her, she’s not here.)
gipsies, plural; gypsies, plural
With that in mind, I’m focusing on the third definition, since I’m not of Romany descent (that I am aware of).
We joke in my family about being gypsies. Last summer when we were “homeless” and staying at my parents in their RV, we would joke about the gypsies being there since the RV was parked outside for such a long period of time. I don’t know if somewhere in our ancestry we actually do have any gypsies, but for me it’s the love of travel that runs through my blood and the number of times many of us have moved, well I’ve lost count in that area.
I find myself thinking about this more and more lately. I don’t know if it’s living in a new place, but not yet having put down roots, or just the wanderlust and desire to see parts of the world I have not yet explored. But the desire to travel is overwhelming me right now.
I have a trip coming up to visit my parents and old friends that I haven’t seen in a long time. And I’m glad that my daughter will get to share in this adventure too. She’ll get to see places she’s never seen before, try new foods, meet new people, and maybe make some life time friends of her own. We’ll explore places I’ve been, and see these sites and landmarks through her eyes this time, visit a couple of places I’ve not been before but want to visit, and create many, many memories.
But this upcoming trip has a purpose. And my heart is longing for a trip without such definition and schedule. I want to go, explore somewhere new, somewhere I’ve never been before. To embrace the culture, the food, the people. To learn the history worn into the streets by the many travelers before me. To take pictures, read stories, write a few new stories as well.
Until I can do this, I will be content to research, plan, and dream. But someday I will set out and follow my gypsy heart. And I will share the stories along the way.