Through eyes that are not her own,
Something more;
Something new.
The painter’s brush sees what the artist knows,
Black canvas.
Midnight sky.
Lest beauty fade through borrowed eyes,
Stars shine.
Through her eyes,
Something strong;
Something true.
Seasons, Reasons, and Lifetimes
Someone reminded me recently of the saying, “people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime”. Certainly, this was not my first time hearing these words. But somehow, I think it might have been the first time I heard them.
People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime. When you figure out which one it is, you will know what to do for each person.
When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty; to provide you with guidance and support; to aid you physically, emotionally or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend, and they are. They are there for the reason you need them to be.
Then, without any wrongdoing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away. Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand. What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled; their work is done. The prayer you sent up has been answered and now it is time to move on.
Some people come into your life for a SEASON, because your turn has come to share, grow or learn. They bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it. It is real. But only for a season.
LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons; things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person, and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life. It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant.
— Author Unknown
I’d always considered this sentiment in the past-tense, with an implicit hierarchy of value, and as a means to excuse, justify, or minimize the loss of relationships that had run their course. I characterized relationships in the ‘reasons’ and ‘seasons’ categories as, in some way, less than. Less real. Less meaningful. Less truthful. Less legitimate. Less wanted. Less worthy.
What if I’ve had it all wrong? What if reasons, seasons, and lifetimes all have value? What if they are all real, and meaningful, and truthful, and legitimate, and all the things I’ve been telling myself they are not? What then?
(Spoiler alert, I have had it all wrong! 100%)
If relationships that last a lifetime are the only ones that matter, here is the million dollar question… How do you know which relationship might land in which category? How do you ever begin to build anything real with anyone? More to the point, why would you bother? It’s too risky.
Some people are going to pass briefly through your world, and sometimes you are going wish they’d been there longer. Others will offer you lessons, some wanted and others you didn’t know you needed at the time. A few will walk beside you through this life, ride or die. And all of that is ok.
You can’t know for sure, and you can’t protect yourself from the inevitable messiness that comes with sharing yourself; not without closing yourself off from all of the good stuff too. And that is too high a price.
Dive in, eyes wide open, knowing that “people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime”, and choose to accept that each is valuable, real and worth experiencing. Embrace vulnerability, fear and the inevitable mess; it’s the only path to the magic and beauty.
An Ode to #cohortstrong
I’ve just spent a magical two weeks learning in residence with some of the most amazing people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. The kindness, sincerity, courage, and brilliance of whom have both humbled and inspired me.
We have challenged and supported each other through an intense time of self-discovery, learning and growth. We have laughed together, cried together, rumbled with one another and found healing in each other. We have emerged as a community; individually, each of us stronger and more resilient; collectively, unstoppable.
As I leave this first residency behind me, and return to the complexity of life, I do not do it alone. I have the wind of 39 beautiful souls at my back, and the shine of an entire community to light my way.
#cohortstrong, thank you for the privilege of sharing this journey with you.
Knowing You. Knowing Me.
Who do you credit with influencing the trajectory of your life? Who are you grateful for knowing?
It’s easy, I think, to summon thoughts of those we hold dear. Be it family members, leaders, friends or lovers; those who have been role models, cheerleaders and, when needed, a mirror — showing us truths that might otherwise have gone unseen. But, none of us is a tidy product – the sum of – our positive experiences are we? We are as much shaped by our missteps and disappointments, our losses and pain, as anything else.
It’s a tough sell though isn’t it — to offer acknowledgement and, dare I suggest, gratitude to those who have mistreated, injured, hurt or betrayed us? Those are certainly not the first thoughts that come to mind when I have pause to consider those who have caused me hardship, or contributed to my pain. But then, what is the alternative? To journey though this life burdened with anger, doubt, bitterness and resentment? To continually surrender tiny pieces of myself to people and circumstances entirely undeserving of such power? Who is that serving? Certainly not me. And more to the point, who is that hurting? Certainly not those I’ve felt wronged or disrespected by.
If I set ego and pride aside for a time, and take honest stock of my journey, there are gifts to appreciate through each weathered storm.
Your ridicule taught me that I am more than the story you have about me.
Through your disrespect, I have learned what it is to respect myself.
Your dishonesty taught me that two people don’t always share the same truth.
Through your betrayal, I have learned to forgive.
Because I have been broken, I know what it is to be resilient — to heal.
Without you, what kind of me would I be? There’s no way to be certain really; I choose to believe though, that I’d be a lesser version of myself somehow. Thank you.
Who are you grateful for knowing?
What’s Old is New
There is something I adore about the juxtaposition of vintage pieces and a modern aesthetic. I’ve long admired those who succeed at seamlessly blending pieces that have seen a thing or two, with those fresh out of the box. As I play with my own version of this vibe, I chronicle bits and pieces here.
The recent acquisition of my grandparents 1950’s era maple dining table served as the inspiration for my latest project.
How does one blend a traditional, mid-century maple dining table into a modern home?
I knew three things when I started. First, the table would remain as is. A few years ago, I welcomed the coordinating hutch into our home, so messing with one meant messing with the other, and I was not about to open that can of worms. Second, I wanted a mix of metal, fabric and wood in whatever configuration of chairs I ended up with. That should be easy to find right? A metal-fabric-wood chair? Third, one of those chairs would be my Nana’s antique Queen Anne side chair, which was lacking purpose in an upstairs spare room.
I began where all great projects begin. The internet. A quick search for “old table modern chairs”, and my mind was blown. It doesn’t have to be one chair? Surely a dining set must match. No? It doesn’t even have to be one style? I can mix all the things I like together and have it still look cohesive? This began an eight week long artistic experiment that became my quest for chairs.
The next question was “What colour?”. Matching the colour of stain in the table would have proven impossible, and seemed a bad idea anyway. Had I chosen to try, I think I’d have lost the modern, bohemian feel that I’d decided to work toward. Do I intorduce light colours? Dark? Should the chairs be patterned or plain? What colours even coordinate well with medium brown maple? I am not going to lie, I became a little consumed by this decision. I mean, chairs are not cheap.
In the end, and with the continued aid of Google, I settled on a colour mixture of silver toned metals, grey fabrics and white woods. Enter the chairs…
The Mid-Century Modern Inspired, Upholstered Parsons
The Iridescent Steel 1970’s-1980’s Inspired Spindle Back
The Antiques
Both of the chairs in this category where refinished (by moi) in flat white paint. They were re-upholstered in tone on tone silver brocade and finished with dark grey braided cord accents.
- The Cameo Chair
2. The Queen Anne Chair
Three very different styles of chair, when paired with the dining table of my childhood and a few modern industrial accents, bring new life to a dining space that has long been lacking a style of its own.
(Pardon the dogs behind. He always knows just when to show up…)
For Papa
You showed me patience and understanding when it wasn’t easy;
Forgiveness when you didn’t have to;
And offered quiet wisdom that I will carry with me always.
As a young woman making poor choices, you delivered no judgment, only reassurance that I’d find my way back from “Neverland” when I was ready;
And a promise that you would be there either way.
You taught me to order the milkshake (and dessert too if I want!);
To imagine, and to find inspiration in the world around me;
To create, and to never fear trying.
Like you, I am putter-er, a tinker-er and a thinker;
And as it turns out, I share your tricky habit of stowing things away for safe keeping, never to be found again.
I don’t know what comes after this life. None of us do. But thanks to you, I can imagine…
I imagine you have found your way to the beach for picnics with Nana;
And that you are spending long hours catching up on lost years with Mickey and Barney.
I imagine you in laughter and in peace.
Rest well Papa.
When I Am 95
I attended a workshop recently where the facilitator asked a question to the room:
When you are 95, what do you want to say about your life?
In that moment, the first thought that came to mind was, should I live to be 95, I want to be able to say that I’ve lived the sh** out of my life. In the days to follow, I found myself thinking more about the question, and about my response. When the time comes for me to reflect on this journey, on this life, what would “living the sh** out of it” look like?
Did I mean I want to have travelled the world, or crossed all manner exciting activities off my proverbial “bucket list”? No, that wasn’t it. Did I mean accumulating wealth somehow, and enjoying the extravagances that one can when money is plentiful? No, that definitely wasn’t it. What about family and friends? Maybe whether I had achieved my goal or not could be measured as a function of the relationships I’d shared? No, it wasn’t that either. Hmm, how will I know, looking back, that I “lived the sh** out of my life”? Perhaps the answer is more existential than it is practical. Now, a philosopher I am not, so bear with me as I attempt to explain this.
In my estimation, life is a complex mosaic of human experiences. Please don’t mistake my use of the word experiences here. I am not referring to your weekend warrior pursuits, nor that play you saw last week. I am talking about those, most basic, experiences that we all share simply because we are human. These are the experiences of happiness and sorrow, of pleasure and pain, of success and failure, and of love and betrayal. Obviously, a far from exhaustive list, but I imagine you get the picture.
Now, I anticipate what some of you are thinking…
“That list is rather extreme-centric, no? What about all the stuff in the middle? Surely, human beings can’t exist on a constant pendulum, swinging between two opposite poles of emotions and experiences”.
Can’t we? Let’s consider this for a moment. What lives between the extremes? What lives between happiness and sorrow, pleasure and pain, success and failure, and love and betrayal?
Indifference. Complacency. Numbness. Safety (Oooh…safety is such a dirty word).
Think about it. When was the last time you met a toddler who was not quite happy and not quite sad? When was the last time asked young child about their future, and they told you they wanted a job they could tolerate? When was the last time you read a great novel or a fairytale where the main character marries a partner he or she ‘liked well enough’ ? When was the last time you heard a child talk about their dream in terms of how realistic it was? I am willing to bet rarely; we just aren’t programmed that way.
I think in time we learn to accept less than we have dreamed, or worse, we learn to stop dreaming altogether. We learn to fear change and failure. We learn to fear vulnerability and expect betrayal. We learn that life does not always go to plan and we learn to fear all of the experiences that can get a bit messy and leave us feeling a bit out of sorts. The result; we become comfortable in tidy, beige, indifference.
When I am 95, what do I want to say about my life?
When my curtain is closing (and I assume that by the time I am 95 years old, said curtain will have begun it’s decent), I want to look back and know that I had the strength to live my truth, and the courage to welcome the unknown. I want to have dreamed big and to have failed. I want to have made mistakes and I want to have regrets. I want to have experienced loss, disappointment and betrayal. I want to look back at my life and see that it was messy and imperfect. Without a doubt, I want to look back and find happiness, success and love as well, but it is in the messiness and the missteps, where the beauty lies. It is in those experiences where we are forced to face our truest selves and in doing so are offered the gifts of strength, courage, grace, humility, forgiveness and growth. For me, the truest measure of whether I have lived life well (or not) will be found in looking back at how willing I was to get my hands dirty. It is through those experiences, in that mess, that I’ll know I didn’t stop trying; that I lived the sh** out of my life.
A boring white lamp shade is just a boring white lamp shade. That is until… a few randomly placed strips of masking tape, bronze and silver metallic acrylic paint and a rainy afternoon transforms it into something new.
Take Me to Church
Four walls, or no walls, your God or no God; it doesn’t matter. The world makes sense here. There are miracles here. There is wonder here. There is peace here; I am at peace here.
“Hey, I have an idea. I could stack bricks, wood and patio stones to make a TV stand.” She says as her partner looks at her quizzically.
Admittedly, this one took a bit of convincing, but the end result did get the stamp of approval.
P.S. The bulldogs rump was not intentional. He insisted on being in the photo.
RickiLu 