As I approached this mural, I was immediately captivated. My amazement increased as I walked closer, and I realized it was made from clothes. All those outdated fashions were cut and/or formed carefully. The artistry was brilliant. As I stood in utter admiration, I realized that too often I think I know something without really "seeing" it.
I love the symbolism of the eye.
While I am not sure my art history professor would be impressed with my deep interpretation, as least he should be proud that I "eyed" it carefully.
And throughout our recent travels, I found my perspectives changing--particularly in our first stop, Amsterdam. Stay posted.
*Photo taken at the Floriade Expo 2022--The International Horticulture Exhibition that occurs every ten years in the Netherlands.
Stories connect us. We love to tell stories. We love to listen to stories. Storytelling is an art--we all know that "one" person that keeps the group entertained! As I have storytelling as a current goal, I have been paying attention to stories, and a couple days ago our youngest daughter was telling stories about her journey learning to drive.
Smiling, Chayse relayed how I carefully set the crawfish pot in the back seat of the car before settling into the passenger seat. She took her seat behind the wheel and started off to her aunt's house to return the pot. She navigated two turns successfully and was rolling along, and since she was zooming along nicely, she forgot about slowing down for the next left turn. The clattering reverberated throughout the car. I held on and didn't breathe (somehow holding one's breath keeps a car on all four wheels and on the road--don't ask how.) I survived physically unscathed, but I am not so sure about the pot--it probably has a fashionable "character" dent or two or three.
Fast forward.
Chayse was complaining to her sister that I never let her drive my car...or drive now that she has her license. Reluctantly, she agreed there may be a reason (see aforementioned story), though she fussed that my car is my "real" baby.
"I might let you drive one of these days," I quipped, "when you get a little more experience."
"Oh, when you need me to drive you to your doctor's appointment when you can no longer drive?"
Maybe. Or maybe I will just check in with the doctor via "zoom."
When I arrived in this world 52 years ago, I became a daughter. Shortly thereafter, I became a sister. As I grew, I began to understand my familial roles extended to granddaughter, great-granddaughter, niece, cousin, and beyond. After a few years, my roles grew again as student and friend.
The learning and mentorship have never ceased, but my roles continue to shift as I step into new chapters. College made me a teacher. Marriage made me a wife. Then came my greatest role of all, Mother. Four children noisily embraced their childhoods and challenged me, and amidst the chaos, they grew up and started new chapters in their lives...until there was only one...and she too is on the cusp of a new chapter. My heart is struggling despite the awe I feel as they find their wings and soar.
Recently, I paused the teaching chapter in hopes of starting a new chapter. Should I start a bread bakery? Should I try freelance writing? Should I finish the biography I started so many years ago in California? Should I go back to school? Suddenly the blank pages feel overwhelming. Where I once looked ahead to the next page, I suddenly find myself pausing apprehensively.
It is easier to be given the new role. When my daughter asked me what I wanted my new grandchild to call me, I didn't know there were names that could be chosen for this new role, as I had only known grandma. Honestly, I didn't really care what he called me--he was precious. As he learned his roles, my name emerged as "Neena." I truly appreciate the help in naming this chapter--which I suspect will be filled with adventures and more grandchildren, as another has already arrived and she too holds a special place in my heart--which is large enough to hold many more, of this I am sure.
Why is it harder to be sure of the next career role? Why don't I just roll with it?
(Yes, that was intentional, my son.)
