Project 1 – KickAss Questions

Okay. So here’s our first project. Let’s answer some kickass questions about life. Answer them from your heart–not based on what you think others might want to hear. Some of these questions might be easy. Others may cause you to think a bit. There might even be a few that you have difficulty answering right now. That’s okay. There are no pass/fail grades for this project. It’s what you want to make of it.

Image courtesy of http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/

I’ll jump in here as well and answer a few of them, too.

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What’s always on your mind? If you were in a bookstore, what section would you gravitate toward first?

I’m always thinking about creative projects. Something that gets me energized and using my brain. Colors, sounds, photos… When I go to the bookstore, I automatically head for the “self-help” and “bargain” sections. I love to look through books to see how they’re designed.

What are three things you care about most, other than family, friends, and meaningful relationships?

What positive things do people say about you? What do they thank you for most often?

Who inspires you? Who would you most like to be like? Heroes/heroines… role models?

I am inspired by Brené Brown, who talks about the courage to be vulnerable, Elizabeth Gilbert, who has an amazing gift of being able to write and a dry sense of humor, and Marie Forleo, who has managed to do what I’m trying to do here…but with MUCH more polish and style! Of course, I’d really love to have the joy of life and ability to tolerate others that my grandmothers had.

When you’re at your best, what does it look like?

When do you feel most powerful, passionate, free, incredibly useful, and inspired?

If you had a chance to be known for something special or unique, what would it be? What’s the legacy you want to leave behind when you depart this world?

What is your biggest fear? What’s the thing that scares you most in life?

Okay, I’ll jump back in on this one because it was one of the most difficult for me to answer. My biggest fear is that, in pursuing my writing and sharing my truth, it will hurt others. When I write, I like to be in my own space. Sometimes I feel that I’m being selfish by doing that. 

What scares me most in life? At this age, things like cancer and never being able to get out of debt keep me awake many nights. I am a master worrier. I need to get over that.

…and the big one?

What do you REALLY want for your life?

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So… how was that? Do you notice anything in particular about your answers?

Image courtesy of http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/

Do they provide you a glimpse of what you desire for your life at this point in your life…and in the future?

Which questions were hardest to answer and why?

Please feel free to share your thoughts in the “comments” below if you feel comfortable. Let’s get a dialogue going here! 

Or… if you’d like to share your thoughts with me privately, please send them to blondesighted@gmail.com. 

 

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Next week’s project?

Uncovering the layers of the past to reveal who you are today. (Yeah. Heavy stuff.)

We’ll look at experiences and events (positive and negative) that have impacted and affected you in some way. Then, we’ll take those events and create a “six-word story” about your life.

 

 

A Fresh Coat of “Purpose”

So, here’s my logo for the little thing* I’m doing for the next couple of weeks. It’s an experiment right now, so bear with me, please.

A month ago, I completed a “Life Design Catalyst” course. In short, it was a week’s worth of discussions, self-introspection, drawing, writing, and meditating on what it is that defines who we are and who we want to be. Identifying our purpose. It was time for me to jump into this, and I knew it the moment we started with the first exercise.

This training was primarily designed for people who work with students who are in the exploration phases of their college careers. But something told me I could find personal value in it. So there I sat, with a week of this stuff in front of me. For the most part, I detest group work, but this was different; I managed to find some people in the room who appeared equally as befuddled about their current lives as I was. They were there more for personal reasons. Naturally, I gravitated toward them. We formed a group and started talking and sharing our stories.

As I ended the week, I realized that many of the things we covered were things that would easily apply to those of us who are (ahem) well past the age of traditional college students. But regardless of our (ahem) ages, we may also find ourselves at a point of readiness for self “re-discovery”. Time to figure out what it is we want to do with our lives…from this point forward.

So, welcome to “Life. Repurposed.” I hope you’ll join me in the process of dusting off the layers of expectations that have defined us for most of our lives. We’ve been so many things for so many others for so long — isn’t it time that we gave ourselves a fresh coat of “purpose paint”?  I know, I know. That’s a bit corny. But I that’s one thing I re-discovered about myself that week. I’ve always been a cornball deep down inside, and now, I realize that’s perfectly fine.

Our first project will be the “Kick-Ass Questions about Life”. Are you ready? Good! Well, roll up your sleeves, and let’s get started.

* It’s a course? Workshop? Gathering? Heck, I’m not quite sure yet. That’s what’s so cool about it!

Sundays on the Front Porch: Finding Your “Happy Place”

Here are some of mine, as promised in the video.

The lake house at Hanging Rock State Park.

Anywhere I can stick my toes in the water…

When I’m lost in song (photo cred – Loretta Kohrs)

Front porch (go figure) at the Mountainaire Inn, Blowing Rock, NC.

Anywhere there’s sand, surf… and maybe a cold adult beverage.

Where are YOUR happy places? I’d like to know!

How Flossie Got Her Groove Back

The first time I saw her, she was hiding in the corner.

“Nobody puts Baby in the corner,” I whispered with a chuckle, walking over to greet her. The bargain hunters passed by as I stood there, making introductions.

A conversation with a second-hand desk.

She was middle-aged – born sometime in the late 1950s — and you could tell that she’d been through some “stuff.” But she spoke to me, as if to say, “Honey, you and I are much alike. We could be good friends, and, oh, the stories we could tell.”

For several months, I had been looking for a writing desk – THE writing desk – but no matter how many times I had convinced myself that I had found the right one, my purchase was stopped short. I either couldn’t see myself spending the money or time to fix it up, or I simply couldn’t imagine spending hours of time seated at it, writing the story that popped into my head at 2 a.m. No, the desk had to fit. It had to be the encouraging friend that was able to coax me out of the mental and physical rut in which I’d found myself of late. We had to understand each other.

I didn’t quite have the funds needed to purchase her that day, and honestly, that was an easy excuse to bring an end to our visit – and prolong my unwillingness to take a chance that she could, perhaps, be the one to help me. I patted her gently, not caring if the other browsers were watching our intimate encounter, and said my goodbye. This was becoming a pattern. A frustrating one at that.

Over the next month, I thought of her often, wondering if she, like several others, had been scooped up by someone who was more comfortable taking risks than I was. Had she been put on the back of a truck and driven to a new home where she had been shined up, only to become the latest item up for bid on eBay? Why had she been abandoned in the first place? She was beautiful – a bit older but still full of grace and class, standing tall on sturdy legs. Did her owner not see her youthful glow, hidden under the years of dust and fading stain, or did he grow tired of her as the years passed? The more I pondered, the more I wished I could visit her again.

Several weeks later, I learned that the antique shop was scheduled to close. Maybe… just maybe… she was still there. I walked slowly down the row of empty dealer booths, and there she was.

“Hi, Flossie,” I said without hesitation. She looked like a Flossie to me – I would call her “Flo” for short. Kinda’ made sense, you know? It sounded like “flow,” which was what I desperately needed to find in my writing.

So, the guys rolled her out front and helped load her in the car.  She looked tired and had cobwebs wrapped around her dented and small, but sturdy, legs. “Don’t worry, Flossie. I’m going to fix you up just right,” I said as we made our way home. She responded with a creak as I rounded a curve.

I put her in the garage – this would be her home for the next few days as the transformation took place. Sanding and repainting furniture was something new to me, so I was a bit nervous about taking the first step. My father suggested an 80-grit sandpaper to remove the old stain and coating. Couldn’t help but chuckle as I put on the dust mask and goggles, grabbed the palm sander, and made the first pass. It felt like I was giving poor Flossie a much-needed facial, scrubbing away the dirt and grime of the day – or in this case – of nearly 60 years.

After two days of heavy sanding, accompanied by a few beers, some uplifting music, and a few rather “unladylike” words (impatience is a weakness), she was smooth and natural. She was beautiful just as she was, and I was considering nothing more than a light stain to enhance her natural features, but I had this overwhelming feeling that she was trying to say something to me. So, I put my ear close to her and listened.

“Make me bold. Make me flashy. I’m ready for people to take notice. I want to feel sexy. No more hiding behind this boring old stain that has covered me for all these years. It’s not me. I want to do something risky. Please help me.”

It was in that moment that I knew what she needed.  Red paint.

The young lady at the paint store grinned and clapped with excitement as I told her what I was wanting to do. She had recently repainted a desk the same color. Picking out the right shade made me a bit anxious – what if it was too “this” or not enough “that?”  When she handed me the sample card, and pointed at the square in the middle with a huge grin, I knew we were on to something.  The paint sample’s name was “Showstopper.” Perfect.

Her first coat went on, and I felt a bit sick. It was a bright Pepto-Bismol pink. My heart sank. I felt as if I had let her down (and there was no way in hell that a pink desk would look good in the space I had chosen). Second coat, and I noticed a transformation beginning to take place.  The pink was changing to a deeper red, and the gloss of the paint was starting to enhance the beautiful curves of her drawer handles. She was becoming exactly what the paint said she would – a showstopper.

For a bit of whimsy, my husband suggested painting her “legs” black. It made sense – every sassy lady who wears a red dress needs a good pair of black heels to complete the look.

Four coats of paint later, and she was transformed. No longer was she an overlooked antique shoved in the corner. Flossie was now a shiny, “new” desk – and the inspiration I needed.

Sometimes all we need is a good buffing down to our “real selves” to see our potential. It can be a tiring, risky, stressful, dirty process, but the end result can be transformative.

The two of us understand that. We are in for some good times together.

“Coughing up” My Latest Post…

Hi, all.  I’m back from the depths (again).

This little fella has been giving me a hard time for the past month or so. Living in North Carolina during the spring sure is pretty, but it SUCKS for those of us with highly-reactive sinuses and lungs.

When I can’t type because I drip all over the keyboard, or the ink from my pen starts to mix with post nasal drip to create “art on paper,” I know I need to surrender for a while…

But this week, I loaded the “big guns” and am fighting back with more meds than I’d really like to have in my system, but hey – it’s starting to do the trick.

So, the oxygen level’s starting to climb, the snot’s less-snotty, and the drips are less-drippy. And I’m feeling like writing again. Yay!

So, please stay tuned for some interesting stories.

There’s the one about a desk named Flossie…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and fishing in the cemetery pond.

 

See ya soon!

Pigment Therapy

I’ve had a rough week.  The weekend started not showing signs of improvement, either.  But on Sunday, I woke up with less pain in the back and neck and was looking at a sunrise that seemed to promise a nice day in store.

One thing that has always made me feel good when life wasn’t going so well was picking up a paintbrush or a pencil and doing something creative.  Getting lost in the messiness of pigment and graphite or calligraphy ink just helped me achieve that rare moment of mindfulness — being completely lost in your creation and forgetting your troubles.

I have this wrought iron patio set that’s just been sitting out in our back yard natural area.  You probably wouldn’t even notice it — rusting and a really depressing dark green.  Heck, even the birds and squirrels won’t sit on it. That speaks volumes.  And go to the local home improvement stores right now, and you’ll have to take out a second mortgage to get a new patio set.

So I got in the car and headed to the local paint store.  I was going to invest some time in “pigment therapy.” I’ve got this thing for that robin’s egg/retro seafoam green color lately.  I picked out my color and headed home. Just that easy.

Here’s the patio furniture BEFORE…

…and here’s the patio set AFTER!

Well, I still have two more chairs to do, but that’ll give me something to look forward to on the weekend.

I got so wrapped up in the painting thing and listening to NPR, that I went inside to rifle through the stacks of paint cans I had stored.  Colors I thought would look great in the half bath, but after a few paint strokes, it went right in the closet.  Hmmm…I found it. “Earthen Jug.”  This feels like a challenge…

So I set my sights on this old milk can that I had covered years ago when I was in my “daisies and ladybugs” phase.  It was a perfect candidate in need of some TLC.

About 30 minutes later (most of that time spent stirring a 2-year-old can of paint back to life), the results were pretty cool…

I’m going to use it as a “side table” for my front porch retreat.

Pigment therapy… it’s amazing what $21 and a little bit of color can do for a run down piece of furniture… or for one’s peace of mind.