Читать книгу My Lyrical Journey: How I Painted My Heart Wide Open - Paula Jones - Страница 5

I’ve known I’m supposed to write something for quite a while. I say I’ve known, but actually, I’ve just been told — by lots of people who know me and have been with me the past five years through my ups and downs, ins and outs, and rantings and ravings.

So, what generally happens when someone tells me what I “should” do is that I dig in my heels — BIG TIME! I hate being pushed or led. You know what they say about horses . . . you can lead ’em to water, but you can’t make ’em drink? Well, that’s me. Only picture a donkey . . . a bit more stubborn. I’ve always been one to discover stuff on my own. Just like the time I got drunk the first time . . . but, that’s another whole story — to be saved for another time.

I’m not sure exactly what happened or when the shift occurred from “No frickin’ way am I writing a book” to . . . “OMG, I’m gonna write a book!” — but it has happened. And just like when I started painting, I had no clue where to start. So, I put it out there . . . in my mind. I asked for signs. ’Cuz the last thing in the world I ever thought I would do was write a book. The second to the last thing I ever thought I would do was paint. Yet, here I am. Writing. And painting. Hell’s Bells.

And true to form, the Universe — God, Spirit or whatever makes your little heart happy to say — brought them in. IN A BIG WAY! Don’t ask me how it happened. It just did. It snowballed.

I started talking with an acquaintance on Facebook. She became a friend . . . and then a mentor. NOT a guru . . . a mentor. She saw me. She encouraged me. She pushed me — with just the right amount of force. She knew how to handle me with kid gloves. Gentle force. She held safe space for me and encouraged me to explore options.

I was ready to quit. I was overwhelmed. I’d committed — or should I say I should be committed — to three shows that summer. AND A BOOK! And a new grandson — and, and, and . . . DAYUM!!! I had a stress fracture in my ankle and was trying to “do” as much as I possibly could because that’s the way I was raised. Being creative is not always about “doing.” Sometimes — hell, most of the time — it’s just about being. It’s about being quiet and listening to the messages. It’s not about going and doing all the time. After all . . . we are human BEings; not human DOings.

My mentor listened to me. She listened to my rantings and my ravings. Then, she offered a suggestion because she knew if I quit, I’d never go back.

This is what transpired:

“I’m having a bad day,” I told her. “I’ve made the decision to write my book. Fear is creeping in. I’m not sure if I am scared or overwhelmed or timid or what, but I’m thinking about taking a month off to figure it all out — even though I know it’s important. It’s a tough decision to commit to writing a book, especially one about really poor “mistakes” — I prefer to call them learning experiences — that I have made in my search for self-love . . . and acceptance. I knew something would come up in this process . . . and this is the first of many fears, I am sure.

“I have a stress fracture of my right ankle, so now would be a perfect time to start writing, but all I can think about is how much I need to do. I can only think of things which require me to be up on my feet, of course. I’m running around in circles in pain, trying to do as much as I can, but not accomplishing anything.

A person in my circle – it’s an outer circle now, but used to be an inner circle — is doing all kinds of things which make me feel incompetent. It's my choice how I react — I get that — but, none-the-less . . . DAYUM!!!”

My mentor suggests that I write a letter to her. She calls it working through my issues. I will pretend that she is me and I am her. She recommends that I hold her . . . as me . . . in a healing cocoon of light. And tell her that she is not broken and why she is important — why her voice matters, how she can do this, why it’s important that she does this, and why the world NEEDS her voice.

“All right, I can do that.”

“And when you are finished,” she says, “change it. Reverse it as though you are standing in front of a mirror and talking with yourself.”

Deep breath. And another. And yet one more.

“Okay,” my inner critic says. “Here goes nothing.”

And so I write to her as Me . . . and me as Me.

Dear Me,

I realize that some days can be totally overwhelming. I get that. You always have a choice: a choice to let it get you down or to look at it as a learning experience.

First of all . . . I know that having a stress fracture in your ankle is no fun. But perhaps, it is to remind you that you need to take time to be quiet . . . and not be on the go quite so much. Sometimes you run in circles, accomplishing nothing other than wearing holes in your carpet, when in actuality, what you need to do is be quiet . . . and go within. The only way you can heal that fracture is with quiet, rest, and putting your feet up. Hmmm . . . a timely message perhaps? Be good to yourself . . . you are the most important person to you . . . and the world needs your message.

Secondly . . . STOP with the comparisons. STOP!!! LAWD child!!! All of us came here with our own message to share. Our own karma to correct. And our own “mistakes” to make. It’s so easy to get caught up with ’keeping up with the Joneses, so to speak, but do you really want to inherit all of THEIR skeletons as well as your own? Do you really want to BE them? Or do you want to be the wonderful, loving, compassionate, friendly, intelligent, fun, joyful, accepting, talented, beautiful woman that YOU are? What if — just what if — you stop with the comparisons and just look in the mirror to see what YOU have to offer. Maybe, just maybe, you will see what others see in you. That is my prayer for you.

Most importantly . . . we — the world — needs your voice. We need to hear about your journey — your journey from fear and judgment to acceptance and self-love. It’s important. Not only to complete your own healing, but also to let others know that they are not alone.

You have been given courage to be transparent . . . and WHOA, BABY . . . this is gonna be transparent. You have things to share with others that you have done in your search for self-love that are less than pretty. In fact, some of it is downright U.G.L.Y. You, by having the courage to share your voice, will allow others to not be so harsh on themselves. Or maybe, you are just writing it to heal yourself. Either way, it helps heal the world, because the more of us that love ourselves unconditionally, the more the world is healed.

You can do this, Paula. One chapter at a time. Until it’s finished. Just like eating an elephant. One bite at a time. Until you don’t want to even think about eating elephant ever again . . . HA!

You are one hell of a woman . . . with courage and tenacity. I honor you for choosing this path. I honor you for doing it with humility.

Love,

Me.

Okay, so it didn’t kill me to write this. My ankle actually feels better because I have been off of it for about an hour. I have a hefty amount written. And I no longer feel the need to compare myself to anyone else . . . because I’m not anyone else. I’m just me. Me. I’m not her. I’m me.

For the first time in a long time, THAT feels good. I’m me . . . flaws, learning experiences, and all. I’m me — quirky, funky and artistic. I’m me, a tad bigger than I “should” be, but accepting of where I am. I’m me, sometimes messy as hell and sometimes neat as a pin. I’m me — one who loves to laugh and help my friends when they need it.

I don’t suck afterall.

We talked after I wrote this. She made more suggestions. Good ones. Actually, GREAT ones. She told me that my voice matters. She knows . . . it’s her business. One thing led to another . . . and a book about transparency and my journey to self-love morphed into My Lyrical Journey — How I Painted my Heart Wide Open.

And then . . . she said magic words. “And if your book was written to artists . . . to inspire artists and other people who have their gifts hidden inside? How would that be?”

I stopped dead. I got a tingle . . . yes . . . the kind when you know that “this is right” down to your very core. For me, it makes . . . well . . . it makes my nipples hard… LOL . . . sorry . . . TMI . . . I know. But, that is how I KNOW.

I realized that I had a passion about following MY passion. Giggle. I believe that all people should follow their passion in one way or another — even if it’s part time. It doesn’t matter if it’s writing, painting, music, sculpting, numbers, politics, being a janitor or working at McDonalds. Whatever it is. Whatever makes you happy. Whatever you KNOW is the “why” that you are here.

We need passion. We’ve become a society of drones . . . and “if I only had’s.” We’ve been taught — at least some of us have — that we need to “work” for a living. Early to bed . . . early to rise . . . etc., etc. Well, I’m calling that bullshit.

I’ve never been happier since I made the decision to be a professional artist. It makes my soul happy. And a happy soul makes for a happy Paula. Happiness ripples. And the ripples ripple . . . and then there are more ripples and before you know it everyone is splashing around in the pool and laughing and having fun, and no one notices color, religion, political ties, etc., etc. We are just all having fun. Together. Because we are all happy.

Yes, I sound like a Dorothy from Kansas (because I am) or a Pollyanna. I realize that. I also realize that it’s not that simple.

Or is it?