December 30, 2014 – My edge – exquisite softness for myself

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In 1998, when the movie “Saving Private Ryan” came out, Joe and I went to see it in the theater.  It was getting rave reviews, it was Spielberg, a great cast – everyone was seeing it, so we did too.  About ten minutes into the beach-landing scene I found myself sitting in my seat barely able to breathe.  I was so overwhelmed with the horror of what those men had experienced, it impacted my physical body. I had to leave the theater, remind myself where I was and that I was ok.  I waited a while, until the loud explosions coming from the theater died down and went back in to join Joe.  When it was over, walking out, driving home, we didn’t speak to each other. Not until the next morning were we able to talk about it.  Even though it’s an incredible story and film, I was sorry that I put myself through watching it.  I vowed to myself to never go see a violent  movie – especially a war movie – again.

I know that war is part of life on earth.  Humans are terribly violent and destructive to one another and there must be some value in telling these stories. (Though doing so hasn’t seemed to stop it from happening.)  But I lack the filter to keep energy out of my being – not just my mental and emotional being, but my physical being too.  I remember as a teenager passing out in the Kaiser Hospital elevator after having visited my grandma. There was no blood or anything gruesome, she was just in a lot of pain.  My psyche couldn’t handle her suffering and away went my consciousness.

Last night I stayed up until 12:30 on the computer, getting all the online store and credit card transactions from this month’s sales entered into QuickBooks.  The deposits were a puzzle to figure out, but I really wanted to get it done before year end.  I did this knowing that being up that late, looking into an electronic screen (two, actually) with my brain engaged with numbers would impact my sleep.  Sure enough, I had a hard time falling asleep and then woke up just three hours later.  I’ve got a little head cold, so depriving myself of sleep is so not what I needed.

All of this is to say that I’m coming to terms, 53 years into this life, that I am a really sensitive person.  Having been raised around a bunch of boys – my three brothers and all their friends – I didn’t have much in the way of an example or a reflection for my kind of sensibilities.  I climbed trees and did a lot of “boy stuff” not fully knowing how girly I really was inside.  I’ve been called a “trouper” all my life, for my capacity to dig in and work hard, even physically hard – like that tile work I did in college.  We keep doing what we are praised for – it’s a well-worn groove.

Becoming an artist and teacher in mid-life has brought to me praise of another sort entirely.  I am not just sensitive to violence, pain and working my brain too hard late at night, but also to how beauty is everywhere, how unique and precious each act of creation is, each attempt at making a watercolor painting.  I am grateful for my capacity to hold people in a particular way in their process of learning to paint, for my ability to see color, for the instrument that lives in the center of my chest that responds to inspiring visions – hearing them say “paint me.”

Tomorrow is the last day of 2014. Though it’s rather arbitrary, the calendar is a structure that we live around.  As such, we look at endings and beginnings. I’ve been shying away from New Year’s resolutions for several years. I’m so susceptible to the “bright-shiny”-ness of the hope for a “whole new me.”  Though it’s still useful to reflect and envision.  Looking back on this year, much of what I was so eager and hopeful for at the start has not come to be.  But what I do see is a profound deepening of my understanding and appreciation for who I am and what I’m here to do and offer.

I’m an artist and I am a teacher/guide/companion, particularly to others drawn to make the kind of art I do.  And the capacity to hold the possibility of  transforming their lives as I have mine.  These are gifts that are intertwined with my sensitivity. Gifts I did nothing to gain, other than to answer the call from outside me to bring them forth.  What I see this morning, is that in order to most fully serve, in the particular way only I can, I can’t live like I did when I set tile, or wrote computer code in the corporate world.  I can’t “do it all” in my little business either.

Life unfolds and reveals us to ourselves and each other in its own time and way.  It’s not new that I need to care for myself differently – I’ve even just shared this with you!  But my experience is that it keeps landing more deeply and clearly.  I can only go so far, watching myself live in a way that goes against my soul before my choices change.  It can be slow, but I stake my life and future on the knowledge that it is steady.

Looking into 2015, with a tender heart, I wish for Life in Full Color to expand, to find its way to bring life, light, color, inspiration to other hearts that resonate with it.  I wish for whatever is needed in me, for me to understand that Life in Full Color is so much more than me, and that bringing it more fully into being will take much more than me.  And I trust that at the end of December 2015, I will look back and see that something has moved and changed and grown.  It’s the nature of the universe.

Thank you, once again, for being there in my world, for having drawn this art, this teaching out of me, for giving me my life’s work.  Sending you my love and blessings for all you wish for in the coming days and months of the new year.

Love,

Cara