Drawing Lessons

     I am a visual-spatial person.  I think in images, make notes with drawings and diagrams and doodle all over everything from lesson plans to recipes.  I used to carry a sketchbook to meetings and workshops because I listened more attentively when I focused on a drawing.  This picture is from a sketchbook I had when Dr. Phil said one must confront one's fears before one can conquer them.  Clearly, I had issues with spiders and snakes so I set about drawing them.  No, it didn't cure me, but I did learn a lot about their anatomy which made them less mysterious and therefore slightly less intimidating.  Slightly.

     A couple of years ago I had a stroke which rendered my right hand useless for several days.  Dear friends stayed with me in the hospital and put my hair up and even plucked my eyebrows.  (Funny thing, vanity.) After a while I regained the use of my hand and life returned to normal.  However, I've lost some of the fine motor ability necessary for good (okay, legible) penmanship and drawing.  Gone are the days of detailed sketches.  I can still do the big gestural strokes for making banners, but can't even read my own handwriting.  Considering that my stroke could have been so much worse and having experienced a small taste of what losing a limb is about, I am not complaining. 

     I believe Marilyn Monroe is credited with saying that sometimes good things fall apart so that better things can fall together.  That is exactly what has happened to me.  Drawing was a creative outlet for me and after I accepted that I wasn't going to be doing much of it anymore, I set about looking for other forms of expression.  I fell into an ancestry project which lead to blogging and that has made all the difference.  Through my writing exercises and blogging topics, I have been forced to confront things that have nagged at me for years.  The photos of ancestors and mom's stories about those mysterious relatives bear striking resemblances to people and situations in my own life, and that has gotten my brain working on a whole new level.  I can look at those photos as well as others and write my responses to the memories, emotions and ideas that they evoke.  I now have a stronger sense of who I am and what I want from this life for myself and my family.  And you know, since I have gotten to this place I find that I am so much less critical of others.  Who am I to assume I know what is going on with someone else when they probably haven't got a clue, either? 

     But still, there are memories and images that keep revisiting like they need some attention.  I like to think of them as old lessons waiting to be learned.  My mother gets extremely annoyed with me about this as she is a proponent of getting over it and moving on.  However, I secretly suspect that in her quiet moments she is doing the same thing I am...looking to put some things to rest.  Lately, I am visited by an image from when I was nine years old.  It was summer and my parents had been divorced about a year when a woman about mom's age moved into a house three doors down from us.  She bought the house that had a huge concrete patio and above-ground pool...and she had three daughters.  My friends Lara and Dot and I were so excited to have some new girls in the neighborhood.  We also looked forward to skating on that patio and swimming in that pool!  But (there's always a but,) my mom nixed our plans right away.  One of her closest friends worked with this woman and had heard all sorts of things about how horrible she was to her ex-husbands and how focused she was on finding the next one.  She shared all this with my mom as well as how her three girls were left unattended many nights so she could go to the bar up the road from us.  The same bar my dad dipped into regularly.  So we were forbidden to associate with the orphan ragamuffins and endured the seemingly endless horror of watching them play on that awesome skating rink of a patio that had so recently been close to becoming community property. 

     This memory would be poignant enough on its own.  It contains lessons about being judgemental and making assumptions.  But what happened next has made it monumental and continues to affect me today.  One afternoon, my brother and I were playing in the front yard when mom came outside and called us to the porch.  I'll never forget it.  She said quite simply, "Your dad married Miss Becky today."  I don't think there was any discussion about it.  It wasn't long before dad moved in down the street and we started to see him drive by with Miss Becky and the girls.  I have searched for words to describe that feeling but there just aren't any.  My daddy was driving by with a carload of kids I was not even allowed to play with. 

     Now, my mother is a wonderful human being and time has affected my memory.  But that image is burned into my mind so I know it happened.  I have been chewing on it quite a bit lately so have taken to task finding out why and learning the lesson.  The why is that the oldest girl, Michelle, is a couple of years older than me and has always been the one I was closest to.  She is currently in the process of fulfilling a lifelong dream and is very close to getting there.  I see her updates almost daily and carry her in prayer because it is an amazing project that she has worked very hard on.  The lessons are several.  While my mother and her friend were passing judgement on Becky and the girls, they did so based on things Becky herself admitted to.  Over the years I learned those things were true.  But, as awful as she may have been to the first two husbands, she treated my daddy like a king.  They are married to this day.  And those girls had structure.  They had chores and activities that kept them busy the whole time their mother was away.  Their house was spotless and they knew how to cook.  I got quite close to them all as we became a family and call them all sisters now even though Michelle is the only one I really talk to anymore. Before dad changed jobs and they moved to Kentucky, I spend many afternoons skating on that patio and got to swim a time or two.  Becky never called us "steps" or treated me or Pat any differently than her own children.  When we spent weekends or summer vacations with them, we all had chores and were all accountable if we dropped the ball.  We all got the same number of gifts for birthdays and Christmas and everyone's good report card was celebrated.  What's the lesson in that?  Don't judge a book by its cover?  Things aren't always what they seem?  Let go and let God? 

     As a mother, I've had to let my kids go visit with their dads and extended families.  I have sent them off for weeks at a time just like my mother had to do then.  That takes a boat load of faith.  That's having to let go and try to breathe in and out until they get back.  It's hard.  But at least I knew my kids had good step-parents.  Their other moms were/are good to my kids.  My mom had an awful image of Becky and to some extent my dad, but she had to let that go to let us go.  She learned in time that Becky was very good to us but those first few months must have been awful.  (On a side note, mom was rewarded in that she she met Jack, who is the best step-dad ever.  I refer to him as my dad...he was there for everything!)

     Another lesson, and maybe the bigger one, is that just because someone does a really crappy job in one aspect of their life, it doesn't mean they aren't successful in others.  We can go lots of places with that one.  I am terrible at managing money, but I can write up a grant proposal for hundreds of thousands of dollars and explain how to effectively use it.   Becky was terrible at maintaining working relationships with her exes, but she ran a household with 5 kids like clockwork while working full-time and getting her husband to quit drinking.  We all have our talents and weaknesses.

     I know that I will continue to be visited by images from my past and am so glad that I have learned what to do with them.  The memories may be painful at times, but their lessons are life-affirming and I am no longer afraid to confront them.  I can't really draw them anymore, but I can draw from them and pass them along.  That is what we are here for after all.  Learning life's lessons to help each other find our way.

Letting Go



     The other day I sent my son into the woods to be eaten by a bear.  Okay, not really, but the thought crossed my mind as he rode off on his bike.  I have seen a bear once in the three years we have lived at the farm, but when Sam rode off to Mr. Don's house "the back way" I couldn't help wondering if there wasn't a whole bear family living out there.  And then that set off my panic alarm and I had to go through the whole litany of reasons why I shouldn't be so worried: people are not the preferred food of bears, Sam's pretty swift on that dirt bike and when a bear gets a whiff of that sweaty boy he won't be hungry anymore.  It all made perfect sense to me but I still heaved a sigh of relief when I saw him headed back across the big field later.

     Am I always this uptight?  Pretty much.  I have fought the faith vs. fear battle most of my adult life...and more so since I had children.  When Sara was younger we travelled quite a bit and were always on the go and I worried that she'd get lost, we'd have an accident or her father would steal her from me.  With Sam I worry more about snakes, bears, falls from rooftops and accidents involving ropes and tools in trees.  He and I were picking berries earlier this week and I was hardly able to pick anything because I had to keep surveying the area around him for snakes.  Yes, snakes loves berries, but they also dislike people and believe me, you can hear Sammy coming...he likes to narrate all activities. 

     There comes a time when we parents have to loosen the reins and let our children lead...a little bit.  I have a hard time with that.  It's not that I am a control freak and want to be in charge of my world, but more that I haven't been able to let myself have confidence in my children's decision making abilities.  They see me making choices all the time.  Surely they have learned something about it.  So why am I so hesitant to let them out of the nest?  Sara is now seventeen and has a job and is responsible for much of the care of seven horses.  She does a great job managing all of that as well as staying on top of her school work and making good grades but I still catch myself asking, "do you have your lunch?" and "do you have your homework?" and "are you sure you can find that place by yourself?"  Most of the time she replies with that look that says, "duh, mom" and as grating as that is, I kind of don't blame her.  Still, I silently pray for her safety every time she drives away and whisper thanks when I hear her return.  While I know she is smart, has a good moral foundation and is a better driver than me, I am absolutely terrified of sending her off to college next Fall.  How can I trust that baby of mine to make the best decisions for herself?  There it is again...faith and fear at odds. 

     When Sam asked if he could take the rent check over to Mr. Don's, I had no doubt he could manage the task, but as I watched him pedal across the field to the wooded trail I thought I must have lost my mind.  He's only seven for crying out loud!  I realized that this is just the first of many times I am going to have to let him go but I also know from experience that it probably won't get too much easier. 

Comfort Zones

     I really need to get out more.  I have become quite a homebody over the past few years and had almost forgotten how much I enjoy getting away and exploring new places.  This past weekend I travelled to Atlanta to meet an old friend...for the first time.  We've been online friends for almost fourteen years and he decided it was high time for us to get together in person and made arrangements to do so.   The day finally came and I headed out to the big city, hitting Atlanta just in time for the five o'clock traffic jam.  I was so filled with nervous excitement that I kept missing turn lanes and attempted to go down one-way streets the wrong way more than once.  I must have circled the hotel four times trying to get turned in the right direction!
     Finally, I arrived at the Four Seasons Atlanta.  I drive a 2000 Honda CRV.  It was originally silver but now is more of a brushed pewter with a few dings and I have never been accused of keeping it too clean.  It stuck out like a sore thumb as I wheeled in between a gorgeous shiny black BMW sedan and a sleek black Lincoln Town Car.   The valet had me park behind an impressive black Lexus SUV.  (For the record, when I make my fortune I am buying a white Mercedes convertible.  All this black is far too serious for me.)  The valet motioned for me to roll the window down but my driver's side window motor is not working so I had to open the door...and it hit the man.  Not hard enough to hurt him, but enough for me to turn bright red and want to crawl under the vehicle.  After establishing that I was staying at the hotel and getting my car checked in, the valet motioned for me to follow my luggage into the lobby where I could wait for my friend.  I did that, but only after asking him what he was going to do with my keys.  God love him, this guy was professional and explained the procedure to me, but the country-come-to-town-in-a-hooptie vibe was coming off him in waves!
     I have visited the Colosseum in Athens and the Library at Ephesus and had year-round passes to Biltmore Estate, but never have I been intimidated by a building like I was by the Four Seasons hotel.  It isn't just beautiful.  It is grand.  It is ritzy.  It is downright uppity.  And it was way outside of my comfort zone.  I was still a bit embarrassed by my parking fiasco when the attendant who had brought in my luggage invited me to have a seat until my friend arrived.  I parked myself in the nearest available seat.  It happened to be a beautiful Queen Anne side chair with bright white upholstery that was directly under a spotlight.  So much for disappearing into the background!  I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat staring at the door about to explode from anxiety so I texted my daughter and my friend Libby to let them know I'd arrived safely.  The hotel staff are amazingly attentive so it wasn't long before I heard, "Ms. Boykin, perhaps you'd be more comfortable over there on one of our sofas.  I'll bring you something to drink."  I swear that man saved my life.  I was about to have a heart attack and my hair was getting hot!
     The sofa was a much better place for me.  I was still able to watch the door but didn't feel like I was onstage.  My heart was pounding so hard that I felt sure the lady with the infant opposite me could hear it.  For the first time in many years I was not at all self-conscious about my appearance.  I'd been on my self-improvement plan for about six weeks and was getting in shape and looked and felt great physically.  So what was all the anxiety about?  I had a fourteen year history with the friend I was about to meet so that wasn't it.  At least not all of it.  Why was I feeling so inadequate? 
     Before I was able to ponder that too much my friend arrived.   He looked exactly like his pictures and I leapt into a great big smiling bear hug.  I forgot about my inadequacy and jumped right into the Oh-My-God-He's-A-Real-Person-And-He's-Really-Here internal freak out.   We laugh about it now, but I was ridiculously nervous.  Thank God and Veuve Clicquot that only lasted about an hour.  He turned out to be exactly the person who I had come to know and I was unbelievably comfortable in his presence for the entire weekend.  That is new for me.  I am usually extremely uncomfortable around new people...especially men. 
     The weekend flew by as we visited most of Midtown, enjoying the amazing Atlanta Aquarium for an entire afternoon.  The whale sharks are mesmerizing and I am now madly in love with a giant manta ray.  We packed up our rooms on Sunday and headed down to check out.  I was feeling a bit emotional at the thought of saying goodbye to my friend and leaving the splendor of the hotel and forgot to press the Lobby button on the elevator.  We found ourselves headed up and the elevator stopped at the Penthouse floor.  The door opened and a beautiful woman and a male companion got in with us.  When we arrived back at the Lobby, my friend and I exited first and the other couple followed, going the opposite direction down the hallway.  My friend leaned over and said, "Do you know who that woman was?"  I said that I thought she looked familiar but couldn't tell as she was wearing sunglasses.  He said, "I'm pretty sure that was Meg Ryan."  That was it...it was her...she has that distinctive mouth.  Her companion turned out to be John Mellencamp.  Cool. 
     We had a few hours to kill, so we visited a couple of shops and then went to Piedmont Park to walk and talk awhile.  We ambled over to an outdoor restaurant and ordered a couple of drinks.  It was Sunday in the South but I was outside of the little box I had gotten accustomed to living in and just went with it.  While enjoying a Bloody Mary in the warm sunshine, I told my friend that I had gotten over feeling unworthy of staying in a four-star hotel and plan to do it again sooner rather than later.  Those hotels aren't just for celebrities anymore!  He is in the coaching, motivation, be-all-you-can-be business so I am used to getting my attitude adjusted and being urged to change my perspective.  However, I was not prepared for what he said next.  "What is the difference between you and Meg Ryan?"  Um, hello?  Did you freaking see her?  But he wasn't kidding.  I didn't have an answer so he told me.  The only difference between me and Meg was that she had recognized and developed her talent early and put it out there.  I could do that now.  Many people have told me that there is a book in me.  I know there is.  But I have allowed myself to buy into the idea that I am not good enough, smart enough or talented enough to actually write it.  I have gotten really comfortable with mediocrity. 
     I dropped my friend at the airport and cried all the way to Columbus.  Yes, I was going to miss him, but I was also overwhelmed with the need to purge a lot of my old self.  My self-doubt and sense of inadequacy have got to go.  God puts us on the planet for a reason other than to simply exist.  I have to find my purpose and live in such a way as to fulfill it.  I have to let go of what I perceive to be the expectations of others.  Why should I be so concerned with how I think others see me?  It is time to start believing in my own dreams.  So I put it out there.  I have told the universe what I need and what I want and fully expect to get it.  Now I am working to meet it half-way.  Like he said, "Life begins at the end of one's comfort zone."