Curiosity often gets the better of me
I'll try [almost] anything once
I've learned [the hard way] that I do have limits
But I'm not afraid to push myself
I've spent most of my life outside of my comfort zone
Outside of myself.

Reasons abound, good and bad
For why I've so often abandoned myself
Denied myself, just plain ol' forgotten myself
More often than not, it began with I was just curious...
By another name, discontent.

It keeps me interesting. Keeps me interested...
In life, my curiosity, that is.
I highly doubt it will ever go away.
I hope it never does.
But with you, it doesn't drive me anymore
It has found its proper place.

With you I don't have to be something that I'm not
More importantly I no longer want to be something that I'm not
Being me is good enough.
It's not a fight or a battle anymore.
I no longer feel lost more often than found.
No need to justify or rationalize
Don't feel the need to defend myself.

I can't explain it
Words don't do justice
To the feeling inside my chest
I guess you could call it home.

Flitting from flower to flower
Never quite at home
Hovering without a place
Not empty but not satisfied

Shining smiles, bright lights
Laughter echoes across the room
Feet moving to the beat
Conversation flows

Now there is a string attached to this kite
An anchor to this ship
A home for this wandering soul

Here
In this chair
With you.

Crossed a bridge
From whole to part
From without to with
From surprising to expected

How quickly and easily it all changes-
when it's good.

What once was only a possibility now has form and sureness. 
What once was only a dream now has a face, a name. 

A piece I was willing to live without has been found. 
Held loosely, yet more confidently with each passing day.
Peace where anxiety once reigned. 

Not sure where this will lead but more than willing to take the chance. 

Collecting a few thoughts here and there.
Commonality and yet disparate.
Conversations overflowing.
Mind attempting to focus.

There is a part of me that pushes.
Struggles with limitation-
Sees a picture larger, more detailed, richer color than this world contains.
It wreaks havoc, manifests chaos, makes life very, very messy.

This part shows most when I paint.
Layer upon layer of color and streak, muck and scratching.
Searching, striving to put onto canvas something inside of me.
Complexity spills forth.
Can I be any different?

It would be so much less work,
Require so much less energy to live life less deeply,
To not feel the burden to put down what I 'see'.

And yet I still run away.
I still avoid.
I refuse to engage even though I see exactly what is happening.
After all, it isn't always rewarding, holding up the mirror or letting people see the crazy thoughts inside one's head. And there is so much crazy up in here.

A lot of times, I can ignore the crazy, keep it under wraps. But when I sit down to paint, I can feel the frustration rising. Something isn't worked out here yet.
When I speak, really speak about life, I can see it in the dull reflection of their eyes. It's not that what I say isn't true, but it's so different from what everyone knows. I feel it keenly. It separates me and I hate separation.

It makes me restless.
My mind, it leaves me restless.
The awareness of the separation, complexity, difference and responsibility lead to frustration and the frustration to restlessness.
Now I could accept the limits.
I could give up trying to paint that picture inside my head.
I have tried.
But it haunts. It begs to be painted. It cries to be lived.
So I follow its echo through the chambers of life into caverns unexplored.
I may cross lines that shouldn't be crossed.
I may live a life with great disappointment and persistent restlessness.
But I will have tried.
I will have followed the Call on my life.

 It is absolutely amazing how having someone around on a regular basis changes the way I see life.
Damn it, I think I need someone to come home to.
And I kind of think I'm a homebody if there is someone with which to be one.

Can't quite make up my mind, but maybe it is coming with age.
Or maybe it is the nature of my job now, always meeting new people.
But coming home to an empty house doesn't make me feel any better.

Blast.
I'm dependent.
I need people around, and consistent people at that.
I used to hate myself for it.
But now, well, I got used to it. I was a little spoiled.
I've always known because of how deeply disappointed I would feel when someone would change or leave. But I've always fought it. Suppressed it. Willed it away. Separated myself to avoid the disappointment.
But now, well, I guess I like it. Yes, it's exhausting. And yes, people disappoint. They leave. They drive me crrraaazzzy. I get annoyed with them. But when I'm alone, I get annoyed with me too! So maybe that's just something in my heart that needs to be redeemed.

So yea, I'm dependent. There. I said it. Once and for all.
A little Asian left a hole in my heart the size of Canada, but she also made my heart bigger as a whole. More space for those who follow.

"Pain is good. Well, let me rephrase that. Pain can bring good. It is necessary to help us understand and appreciate the good things we have in life- a reminder of the brokenness that is constant in this temporary world. But also an indicator of hope for better things." T. Siu

You know that feeling of dread that creeps up,
Wraps around your chest and immobilizes?
The ever potent bug of procrastination.

It spans all personalities and tasks.
It makes me irritable and brings out the escapist in me.
And so often, once the clothes are folded, dishes put away or book read,
it fades with a sigh of relief....
Til next time.
Which could be a matter of minutes or hours or days or weeks.

Someone, I think it was a parent, asked me if I knew a cure for procrastination.
I had to stop and think.
I am, by artistic nature, a procrastinator, desiring to be as fully present in the moment without care.
And yet I was raised with a good, loyal German work ethic. Not to mention, this crazy awareness of detail that I've been trying to figure out if it should be ignored or exploited.
I said, being on the receiving end of someone else's procrastination.
If it happens to you enough, your view of responsibility changes. So while the dread still creeps, you take care of things instead of hiding because you care for others.

Works great for everything but myself. I'm realizing I really don't care very much for myself. A very practical example, my laundry or cleaning my car. Neither affect other people very much so I ignore them. Don't like to take the energy to address them. But it's really not caring for myself.
Do you know how many times I have this thought when I finally get around to doing something for myself? Every time. Seriously. Working out. Yoga. Reading. Walking. Oh the list goes on and on.
I'm really beginning to wonder when I'll start taking care of myself on a regular basis.
When I'll actually see it as worthwhile to spend the money for a yoga class or to create just for me.
And why do I keep putting it off?
And what does that say about what I think of myself?

I don't want to say the fight has left me,
but something has.

No longer drowning in emotion,
how does a life burn?

No longer wallowing in sorrow,
how does a heart break?

No longer choking in anxiety,
how does a mind race?

What fills the space?
What stems the non existent tide?
Who keeps track of time?

Where do I find my life?