Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Living a Better Story
I am a 52-year-old woman who has spent the majority of my life making a home for my husband and four daughters. The courage and passion I held to through the years staying home to raise my own children looks awkward and provincial to people now. I stand up tall and declare it was not a mistake. God has honored the choice and we have suffered very little materially for it. I would do it all again. I am ferocious about this.
As my daughters have grown up I have gotten absorbed in their history, as if life happened to me without my awareness. Why, even this blog is a shared one between my daughters and I. But beneath the surface, I have been undergoing and embracing the shift in my focus away from them. My youngest daughter is now a senior in high school and I have been mulling over in my mind what kind of life I will live now that time opens up its arms to me. Since reading A Million Miles in a Thousand Years I have thought about this future in terms of “my story.”
As a child, being an artist was a big part of my identity. One of my earliest memories is drawing in church. (I still doodle through sermons—it helps me focus.) My favorite gifts to receive were always the exceptional colored pencils with rich color saturation and the deluxe paint sets. As an adult, the words naturally fall from my lips, “I’m a follower of Jesus, a wife, mother and an artist.” Over the years I developed a career that contributes to the family income and allows me to be home while I design and create—I am a graphic designer.
Although I have never entirely abandon my art (http://www.facebook.com/patty.ewing?v=photos#!/album.php?aid=17833&id=502401007) or writing, I believe my “story” in the future will be chock full of artful writing and painting.
But, here is the rub: I see myself as a nonentity—shadowy—nearly invisible.
I have gotten quite shabby in appearance. Not that I was ever a looker, but I used to have a certain sharpness to my person that I have allowed to mellow and settle. I was putting on my makeup yesterday and thought, “Why bother?” I don’t think anyone really looks at me anymore. All this without even the dignity of any real old age to accompany and account for it.
What I want more than anything and resolve to do: lose weight and repair my esteem and health WHILE I nurture my creative bent.
I know I can write (maybe not publish—but I CAN write). I will need to commit a space of time each day to write. I’ll get a laptop at some point in order to move about freely and compose in more interesting places. I can read books about writing and books about writers! (I love reading. This can now be a valid reason to read during the day: Research!) I can sign up for creative writing classes and workshops.
I know I can make art that I love and others will enjoy. I can take classes that will force me to produce and give me the physical arena in which to make a mess. I will need to turn one of the rooms into a studio fit for paint to fling about. I’ll stretch canvases and buy quantities of paint. I’ll get a small paint pad to carry about and a small quality set of paints to bring along and paint at whim.
But my undertakings will inevitably be sabotaged by my weight. So. My better story looks like this: I begin to live a healthy lifestyle while I pursue stimulating and aesthetic endeavors. I will write. I will paint. I will live an artful, satisfying season of years quickened and energized by increased health, loss of burdensome weight and a new sense of self.
Of course the obstacles ahead are the same faced by millions of overweight Americans. The road ahead is well documented. I have done this before—twice I lost over 100 pounds—only to regain it. I set my face to it. I’ll fix a big pot of vegetable soup, fill a glass of water and hop on my stationary bike. Later I will write about it.
I am hoping the Living a Better Story seminar (www.donmilleris.com/conference) will be a launching place—a catalyst to the momentum to begin my story with clarity. In the way writing this piece has been motivating and empowering; I expect the seminar to be exponentially more so.
As my daughters have grown up I have gotten absorbed in their history, as if life happened to me without my awareness. Why, even this blog is a shared one between my daughters and I. But beneath the surface, I have been undergoing and embracing the shift in my focus away from them. My youngest daughter is now a senior in high school and I have been mulling over in my mind what kind of life I will live now that time opens up its arms to me. Since reading A Million Miles in a Thousand Years I have thought about this future in terms of “my story.”
As a child, being an artist was a big part of my identity. One of my earliest memories is drawing in church. (I still doodle through sermons—it helps me focus.) My favorite gifts to receive were always the exceptional colored pencils with rich color saturation and the deluxe paint sets. As an adult, the words naturally fall from my lips, “I’m a follower of Jesus, a wife, mother and an artist.” Over the years I developed a career that contributes to the family income and allows me to be home while I design and create—I am a graphic designer.
Although I have never entirely abandon my art (http://www.facebook.com/patty.ewing?v=photos#!/album.php?aid=17833&id=502401007) or writing, I believe my “story” in the future will be chock full of artful writing and painting.
But, here is the rub: I see myself as a nonentity—shadowy—nearly invisible.
I have gotten quite shabby in appearance. Not that I was ever a looker, but I used to have a certain sharpness to my person that I have allowed to mellow and settle. I was putting on my makeup yesterday and thought, “Why bother?” I don’t think anyone really looks at me anymore. All this without even the dignity of any real old age to accompany and account for it.
What I want more than anything and resolve to do: lose weight and repair my esteem and health WHILE I nurture my creative bent.
I know I can write (maybe not publish—but I CAN write). I will need to commit a space of time each day to write. I’ll get a laptop at some point in order to move about freely and compose in more interesting places. I can read books about writing and books about writers! (I love reading. This can now be a valid reason to read during the day: Research!) I can sign up for creative writing classes and workshops.
I know I can make art that I love and others will enjoy. I can take classes that will force me to produce and give me the physical arena in which to make a mess. I will need to turn one of the rooms into a studio fit for paint to fling about. I’ll stretch canvases and buy quantities of paint. I’ll get a small paint pad to carry about and a small quality set of paints to bring along and paint at whim.
But my undertakings will inevitably be sabotaged by my weight. So. My better story looks like this: I begin to live a healthy lifestyle while I pursue stimulating and aesthetic endeavors. I will write. I will paint. I will live an artful, satisfying season of years quickened and energized by increased health, loss of burdensome weight and a new sense of self.
Of course the obstacles ahead are the same faced by millions of overweight Americans. The road ahead is well documented. I have done this before—twice I lost over 100 pounds—only to regain it. I set my face to it. I’ll fix a big pot of vegetable soup, fill a glass of water and hop on my stationary bike. Later I will write about it.
I am hoping the Living a Better Story seminar (www.donmilleris.com/conference) will be a launching place—a catalyst to the momentum to begin my story with clarity. In the way writing this piece has been motivating and empowering; I expect the seminar to be exponentially more so.
This is how it went:
We were all just hangin out in the kitchen eating something (probably delicious cereal) and Emily jokingly wrote her silly little twirly signature on my shin. For some odd reason my leg was conveniently propped up on the counter top. And there it was, in blue ink, Emily's name looking like a tat.
I wore cropped pants to work and then a skirt later that day. People saw it, I'm sure. I didn't mind. After work Emily asked me to go to our friend who is a hair dresser to get her hair cut... just like me.
We had some sister moments in the car and it was just as we were pulling off 315 at the Ackerman exit that we started talking about her signature on my leg again. "You know, I don't know if I would actually mind it so much. It's kinda cool," I half-joked. And then I thought, I actually wouldn't mind having this as a tattoo. I love my sister. And then it dawned on us:"OOOOO! We could all get a tattoo of the sister's signatures!"
So... we're not quite joking when we say we want your signatures (even if they're illegible or look like a fourth grader's).
We were all just hangin out in the kitchen eating something (probably delicious cereal) and Emily jokingly wrote her silly little twirly signature on my shin. For some odd reason my leg was conveniently propped up on the counter top. And there it was, in blue ink, Emily's name looking like a tat.
I wore cropped pants to work and then a skirt later that day. People saw it, I'm sure. I didn't mind. After work Emily asked me to go to our friend who is a hair dresser to get her hair cut... just like me.
We had some sister moments in the car and it was just as we were pulling off 315 at the Ackerman exit that we started talking about her signature on my leg again. "You know, I don't know if I would actually mind it so much. It's kinda cool," I half-joked. And then I thought, I actually wouldn't mind having this as a tattoo. I love my sister. And then it dawned on us:"OOOOO! We could all get a tattoo of the sister's signatures!"
So... we're not quite joking when we say we want your signatures (even if they're illegible or look like a fourth grader's).
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Sisters by Emily Ewing
Sisters
by Emily Ewing
Sisters four,
Same laugh, smile, voice
Common memories and blood,
Shared bedrooms and pets,
One God, one faith.
Forever united.
Individuals to say the least,
One determined,
One talented,
One compassionate,
One goofy.
Forever rare.
Each other’s strong crutches,
Hold hands,
Catch tears,
Long calls,
Never question.
Forever loyal.
Undeniably unique,
A doctor,
A singer,
A saint,
A possibility.
Forever independent.
Favorite pastimes together,
Old movies,
Long car rides,
Big dinners,
Sleepovers.
Forever best friends.
Sisters four,
Forever united,
Forever rare,
Forever loyal,
Forever independent,
Forever best friends,
Forever Ewing sisters.
by Emily Ewing
Sisters four,
Same laugh, smile, voice
Common memories and blood,
Shared bedrooms and pets,
One God, one faith.
Forever united.
Individuals to say the least,
One determined,
One talented,
One compassionate,
One goofy.
Forever rare.
Each other’s strong crutches,
Hold hands,
Catch tears,
Long calls,
Never question.
Forever loyal.
Undeniably unique,
A doctor,
A singer,
A saint,
A possibility.
Forever independent.
Favorite pastimes together,
Old movies,
Long car rides,
Big dinners,
Sleepovers.
Forever best friends.
Sisters four,
Forever united,
Forever rare,
Forever loyal,
Forever independent,
Forever best friends,
Forever Ewing sisters.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)