Space for Creativity: Bring to Life

Yesterday, I was listening to this podcast and I was inspired to go through boxes in my basement. Bins that are labeled "Kerin's Keepsakes", "Kerin's Stuff Fragile", "Kerin Wedding", and "Kerin Photos". I vaguely knew what was in them but not entirely. Between last night and this morning, I picked up each item and made a decision. I narrowed from four overstuffed bins to one. Some things I threw away, some I donated, and some really important items moved from being stashed in a box to actually being displayed in my house. Pretty awesome.

I also found something I wrote. I don't know when I wrote it. My guess is a year or two after college. I used to create things like this as an exercise against writer's block. I showed it to Nick and he said I should put it on my blog. Why not? What strikes me about the piece is my relationship with Creativity. It seems to be doing much better these days. But like anything that close to my heart, I'll always worry.
Enjoy!

Bring to Life

Out of practice. I can only hope that the imagination which brought me so far as a child is able to be revived. I hope it is not too late to pull out the paddles and resuscitate. Creativity lies on the operating table: split open and spilling, spreading across the floor, creating a mess. I hover above it and try to recognize my old friend. I wonder how I let it get this far. I press down hard, waiting for a response. Nothing. I look at the screen searching for hope, waiting for a flicker to tell me- "you've still got it." Nothing. I try again.

If it is gone, then what? 

Creativity has been such a dear friend. All of the make-pretend games as a child, the fantasies, the dreams, and most importantly- the stories. When I needed an escape, I merely had to let my fingers fall. A-S-D-F-J-K-L-;. Squint my eyes and lightly move my lips. It was my secret recipe. Stir well and wait for my friend to tip-toe across the screen. I feel a surge of desperation as Creativity codes, right there in front of me. And although I am supposed to be the one in charge, the one controlling the room and the outcome; in this moment I feel helpless. 

What would the obituary read? What for my love of writing and Creativity have I to show? A collection of work- finished and pressed- not quite. 

So I approach the computer like a forgotten friend. I ask forgiveness and I type away. Line by line, I write blurbs of meaningless thought. But the letters are coming and it's more than I could ask for after such an extended break. "I did not forget you", I whisper as Creativity takes a tiny breath, so light and so short I almost miss it. 

I press again and remember so many late nights. A  spark would fill my fingers and I would fight off sleep just to type. The minutes tick by and all my thoughts meld and before I can try to piece them together, they are on the screen- unedited and exposed because that's how they fell. And I leave them just as they are. I used to think that somebody guided my words, that a visitor came to my screen while I slept and made my sentences flow better than I ever could.

I know if and when my sweet Creativity wakes up there will be lots of questions, mainly my reasons for not visiting. I do not have an answer. I guess I needed time for a break. Creativity would understand as long as it knew that I will not completely give up that younger version. The one that sat with words playing on her tongue until the room began getting light. I never want that to not be a part of who I am. I never want to let it go. 

Big Things: Focus

Portsmouth

This year, more than any other, seems to carry focus. Not because of some determined resolution but 

because of a path that I have slowly, oh so slowly, been wearing down and creating.

But before I can press my feet into the dirt and continue, I need to take a little bit of time to reflect. A year has ended and a new one has shuffled into place. In reflecting on 2015, the year of balance, it took me a moment to recognize the year as it was. Most of the changes, with some serious exception, are small. A few are light, simple, and fun. But my reason for creating a list is to provide a reminder, context. And in this post of introspection, I realize that 2015 was the year in which this quote proved true:





We rang in 2015 at our house with some of my best college friends. It was wonderful!

A few weeks later, Nick, Emaline, and I flew to Sanibel, Florida with my parents. We rode bikes, collected shells, watched sunsets, drank jai-alai, and swam in the ocean.

While we were there we found out that my Nana Rice was very sick. We wondered if we needed to return home early, but the decision was made for us when a massive snowstorm shut down New England. When we were able to get back,we spent time with my Nana before she passed away.

Nick pulling Emaline through the backyard of the house where my Mom grew up.

My Uncle Paul doing something on the roof. My Nana watching us through the window. The last day we saw her.

On my birthday, we said goodbye to my last grandparent. I wrote about her here. We spent the next few months buried in snow.

When finally the last bit of white melted away, we broke the record for the snowiest winter in Boston's recorded history. And moving forward from that hibernation, I realize now, how many small changes happened then:

• Started a number of house projects 
• Tended the yard and gardens around our home
• Discovered podcasts 
• Continued to simplify, declutter, and slow my home
• Began eating more fruits and veggies with a daily smoothie
• Got myself to enjoy black coffee
• Started wearing lipstick. (It only took me 32 years to decide that I liked the way it looked.) 
• Learned to like cooking a bit more and picked up a few recipes
• Took a painting class
• Attended networking events
• Found a workout class that I really enjoy and have stuck with it. Barre!

In May, we celebrated Emaline's second birthday with a big party at our house and got her a swing-set. A few weeks later, Nick had to go to Amsterdam for a work conference and I took the opportunity to join him. We left Emaline with my Mom and traveled Bruges and Amsterdam for six days. It was a great reminder how much Nick and I love to travel together and want that for our family in the years to come. We also:

• Traveled to Minneapolis three times
• Vacationed on the Cape
• Visited the National Seashore
• Hosted a number of family and friends

The day after we returned from Europe, the organization that I serve as a volunteer board member had our biggest event of the year! We shut down the main street in Portsmouth to host the Stiletto Sprint! A short race run in heels (men and women) to raise money for Big Brothers Big Sisters. It was an incredible event and I am so proud to be a part of it. In our last meeting, I agreed to take a higher position on the board for this coming year.

And at the end of the summer, I got an offer to join a long term writing project. An author who I love and respect is writing a historical fiction novel and has asked me to research and edit. I officially started on September 1st and it is the best!

In addition to this list, are the countless days I have spent with Emaline. Often we are in pajamas, playing hide and seek or babies or kitchen or coloring or singing or freeze dancing. I will admit that sometimes Emaline has to say "Mama, play with me!" before I decide that it is okay to stop what I am doing (this included) and be with her completely. But every night when I squeeze her in my arms before tucking her in, I know this is a time to cherish. And I do. She is no longer a baby but a little person. She is smart, funny, thoughtful, and curious. She counts, sings, knows her colors and letters, uses a high-pitched voice when we play pretend. Every day she does something that just pulls on my heart. This morning she hid stuffed animals in Nick's jacket pocket to surprise him when he went to work.

So 2016, I am ready for you. 2016 is the year of focus. Travel. Finances. Family. Friends. Writing.

Happy New Year!

Sunday in October: Little Bits of Magic

It is Sunday and football is on. We have nothing planned today and I am happy for it. We will take on a few house projects and hang out as a family. I will write and we will cook dinner together. Days like this are not as common as we would like but so nice when they occur.

This fall Emaline is getting into the season, seemingly collecting baby pumpkins, painting them, placing them on the steps, and repeating the process every time it rains and the paint runs off. I love sitting with her on the deck as she focuses on putting just the right amount of blob and swirl on each little pumpkin.

 

And my addiction to Netflix documentaries continues. My recent favorites are Maidentrip and Hungry for Change. The second, pushed me into a smoothie kick. I really enjoy stuffing handfuls of leafy greens, carrots, and fruit into our Big Boss blender. I know I am doing something good for myself and it really does taste great! 

All of this

Becomes this.

I am most of the way through Big Magic and love it! I knew I would. Elizabeth Gilbert is one of my all time favorites. I have written about her podcast, her TedTalk, and her books. She is wise and honest and her opinions on art and creativity are so refreshing.

This book could not have come at a better time. I have been met with a very special writing opportunity and have appreciated the encouragement as I begin a new adventure. I will be able to share details with the blog very soon!

**And speaking of creative living, my awesome SIL has opened up an etsy shop! You can check out Smudge Guest Books HERE. Babies, engagements, showers, weddings, little kid birthday, personalized art. Elise is offering a special offer for Write to Simplicity readers. If you order before the end of October and mention this post, you will receive 10% off your order!

Travel: Like Writing

Bruges, Belgium. 

 On a Wednesday evening a few weeks ago, Nick and I left Emaline with my parents and boarded a plane to Amsterdam. As the trip neared, I received one of two questions: "Are you excited?" or "Are you scared to leave Emaline?" I have never been good at answering questions of this type. The honest response is trickier than expected so I just say "yes."

Emaline carried my picture in her pocket the day before I came home.

I thought about not going. I allowed waves of guilt and fear to follow me around. I polled friends and family expecting somebody to tell me what I wanted to hear. I looked at my child and knew that I would not see anything in this world as wonderful as her little face. I could not imagine being away from her for six days because we are always together and I don't want to miss even a minor change. It happens so quick. But as I lifted her from my shoulder and placed her in bed, I thought about how I wanted her to see me.

I paused the fear and the judgement and just focused on her and I. And I realized that I need to give her the best version of myself. And for me, part of that is travel.

I recently read Yes Please  and the words that stick with me are, "good for you, not for me." How I parent is not the same as how you parent. How I live my life is not the same as you live your life. And that's totally cool! I need to stop trying to meet some invisible expectation. When I let go of public perception, decisions are much simpler. The answer: Travel, like writing, makes me better. The same reason that I went, might be the same reason that another parent chooses to stay.

Nick and I are both a little better after an adventure than the version of ourselves who began. We push ourselves to new places, collect experiences, and step out of routine to look at a shiny new world.

And like that, the fear settled. It did not go away, but I was able to package it up and stow it beneath my seat. I still cried on the way to the airport and I still felt a knot in my chest whenever a small child passed us on the streets of Europe. But as our train rolled through the Belgian countryside I felt light. I took in the beauty of the area and thought about telling Emaline all about this when she gets a little older.  

IAMSTERDAM

A real Belgian waffle

New Flemish friends in Bruges, Belgium 

New Year: One Word

A few weeks ago, I told Nick about an author who intentionally lives each year carrying a one word theme. Growth. Change. Fun.

Nick caught me off guard today by asking if I chose my word. It was an interesting idea but I hadn't intended to pick a word. Usually I am able to identify themes only in hindsight, after the surprise twists of time begin to make sense. But as he asked me, the word rolled forward as though called upon and letters bolded in my mind.

Balance.

A little bit more and a little bit less of all of the parts of my life that matter. I walk a tightrope carrying all of the things that I hold dear. It is easy to forget to look up, to lose my footing, to not stop for a breath. Balance.

Happy 2015. May you find your word, whether you know it or not.  


Also, I keep thinking about this post from a few years ago and this one as well.

Something Personal: Not That Kind of Girl

I have an odd talent. I have never met anybody else who does this. I have told only a few and every time I have shared, I've been met with silent glances and subtle confusion.

Often when I read a book, the voice of the author seeps inside my head. For a brief period, I have a hard time not thinking in the language of the story. It's much like getting a song stuck in your head. It lasts for hours, sometimes a day and I enjoy the time.

I choose what to read based on this, often books with beautiful language. It does not always happen and sometimes it's not until the story draws to a close. It does not pour into conversation, but rather it is my inner dialogue. I imagine it like somebody who speaks English as a second language, turning Spanish phrases inside their mind.

Right now, I am finishing up Lena Dunham's new book, Not That Kind of Girl. Which I love! But I am glad it is almost done because this book was absorbed much faster than normal. Likely, because I already know her voice. But now I am there and cannot shake it. If you have seen Girls and you have sat through one of their I-can't-watch-this-I'm-so-uncomfortable scenes, you know what I mean.

I love her work and I feel like I get her writing but she writes nonfiction. Lena's brilliant book is comprised of essays, her life until now. It is presented with wit and hindsight and the vulnerability that she has become known for her. My blog exists, in part as a challenge, to write about myself. Something I have never been particularly good at. And so instead of the words turning outwards to face the world, it is like having a spotlight into the corners of something more personal.

That is probably why I am sharing something today, an ode to her words, her truth.

Nice Day: Fall Schedule

Labor Day has just gone and taken with it, the unofficial end of summer. As a season, we have a few more weeks. But as soon as yellow buses start filling the streets, it feels time to empty the beaches. Not that I want to, at all. I am pleading with the sun to last a little longer this year. I want more time with sandy clothes, open windows, iced coffee, trips to the Cape, summer beer, food on the grill, baby swim lessons, sun-blocked skin, and long days.  

There is a chance that my wish could come true, at least somewhat. I am living in New England for the first time in almost a decade. Minnesota in the fall is lovely but blink and you might miss it. It lasts about five minutes. New England weather is more unpredictable but generally is a little gentler in the transition. 

Nick and Emaline on Long Sands Beach, York, ME.

I stopped writing on my blog and now that I am back, I write two paragraphs on the weather. Probably not what you were looking for. But like many conversations, you start with small comments and light pieces of notice. Sometimes you start with a proclamation. Spit out a statement and dive in. But not this time. I am wading in, one step at a time. It is rocky and I slowly work to find my footing. As the water gets higher, I will start to swim. But this is the gauge, the place where I figure it out.

As kids head back to school, I find myself wanting to recommit time to this platform, this little blog. I want to share our life on the Seacoast. I want to remember simplicity. And of course I want another venue to write. I am reluctant to state that now but Nick always says- you are more likely to follow through if it is in writing. So there you go.

I have been writing, though not here. And I have been reading voraciously, for someone with a 15 month old. But summer is ending and I want to step it up.

Cape Cod Canal

*If you are a regular reader and ever want to request a new post, I encourage you to let me know. I work well under pressure.

Boston Harbor from my sister's roof deck.

Practice: Peonies for Emaline

I have written the obligatory post about our move and everything that goes along with it. But I'm not ready to share. Because of the move and everything that goes along with it, I have not been writing. And the first few times writing after having not written, are a little bit like getting off crutches. I am weak and shaky and my muscles needs to build along with my confidence. So borrowing a little bit of inspiration from one of my favorite bloggers, I am writing a practice post. I will publish it as my warm-up, my opening act. Not to build expectations, please don't do that. But to get my fingers moving and my writer-brain slowly turning. So for the moment, I will pretend that I am not 1,200 miles from Nick's family, an hour from my family, and five minutes from the ocean.

A picture to pull you into a new topic. Emaline!

Emaline's first birthday is in less than a week! Nothing in the world messes with the passage of time more than a child. This year has flown by runs parallel in truth to that feels so long ago. Nick and I keep repeating these statements as we prepare to celebrate. We are having a party for her on Saturday and her actual birthday is on Tuesday. I have a Pinterest board of ideas. We will see what plans come to fruition. I know I want flowers, and balloons, and to decorate her highchair.

What I imagine. But this won't happen. 

I imagined peonies filling the house. When I announced that I was pregnant, I chose peonies as the image to accompany my words because they come into bloom at the same time that my baby was to be born. Yes, there was a lot of thought over that image. And since that time, I have associated those beautiful flowers with my littlest love.

Yesterday, I called the local flower shop and asked if they had any peonies. The lady excitedly told me they were coming in tomorrow. I almost ran for my credit card. This is perfect. I will buy so many. "They are $7.00 a stem." she said breaking through the daydream of my peony house.

"Like per flower? A stem is a flower?" I asked incredulously, realizing only now, how dumb I must have sounded.

After a few beats of silence she responded, "Yes. That's right."

So I am revising my floral plans. I will share some here and when we buy a house (which will be soon but we're not talking about that yet!) I will plant peonies. And every spring when they bloom, I will clip a bunch and put them in a vase for my little girl.

  

Sleepless Words: Free Pass

Emaline and I move through most days on a steady rhythm. There are smalls bumps and detours but we have learned each other. I know what she needs and how to soothe her. I know when she needs sleep and I know when we can play. And I knew yesterday that she just wanted to be held. Most of the day, everything was done with a baby in my arms. And as I held her and flipped through an old notebook, I found something I wrote when she was brand new. It is choppy and incomplete because so were my thoughts when this fell onto the page.

 When so much nothing is everything.

Days are filled to the brim. I move with intention and blurry focus. But when the sun settles for the night and my body curls into the dark, I search for something to show and have nothing new to present.

The baby sleeps and a growing to do list rattles my thoughts. Her tiny chest moves up and down. These are the days with a new baby.

This time is fleeting, so temporary, and so important that I carry a pass. A pass that allows one subject to press my mind and consume my heart.

But still, I search and yearn and promise that tomorrow there will be more.

The Critic Does Not Count: Small Bursts

I never intended to stay away that long. I could offer a plethora of excuses. Emaline is the most obvious. She keeps me busy and is very distracting. She redirects my creativity and refocuses my attention, making it difficult to sit and write. But she is not the only reason. My computer stopped working around the same time that I finally got an iphone. I always thought that having a smartphone would make blogging easier. The tiny portal to the rest of the world is convenient for many things but I don't like it for writing.

Yesterday, Nick offered me his computer and so here I am.

Emaline just woke up from a nap and is cooing away in her swing.

And quickly her coos turned into fusses. So now it is a few hours later. She is taking her second nap and I am back to writing. I guess this speaks to not really owning my time. It has taken me awhile to realize that I can still accomplish the things that I want, but not always when I want.

I am on week three of the Artist's Way. The changes are small but noticeable. Cracks are forming and inspiration is starting to seep through. I have been having vivid and fantastic dreams. I am writing everyday. I have realized that writing does not have to be all or nothing. I can write in small bursts. I can write because I love it. I can create something new, not for critique but, as an expression of who I am. It is liberating to believe that my job is to put words on a page and what happens after that, is not for me to decide.

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” 

-Theodore Roosevelt 


Elizabeth Gilbert spoke about this in her Ted talk. Oprah has talked about this many times, most recently with the author of The War of Art. And this morning, the most eloquent blogger that I read daily, said this.

I have always been protective of my art. It was a big deal when I was younger to share my stories. It was a big deal in 2009 when I decided to start a blog. Putting yourself out there is scary. But I am also learning that vulnerability can be a good thing. And so I will try. I will try to be honest. I will try to be brave. I will try to share my voice.



She is starting to wiggle and coo. Her eyes are still closed but I know what comes next.

The List: In One Year

 The summer after I graduated college, I was living at home and working my first full-time job. I was saving money and planning a move to Minnesota. I was figuring out life after college.

One day on my lunch break, I was reading in the cafeteria when I looked up to see a guy I knew. He was the friend of an ex-boyfriend and I knew he did not think highly of me. Still, it surprised me when we made eye contact and he stared at me with a look of hatred. He held my gaze for as long as I let him and his eyes burned with animosity. I could not stop thinking about it and by the time I left work that day, I felt sick.

It wasn't until that night, going over the image for the millionth time, that I realized something and just like that, let it go. I started thinking about everything that had happened since the last time I saw him. I realized that he did not know me, not really. A list of events from the last year started populating in my head, each one pushed me forward. And suddenly I was too far away to be touched, too far for his eyes and his anger to hurt me.

As soon as I realized this, I went to my computer and started typing. My intention was to write down all that happened and what came out was the list. Each item was a memory and a thousand stories. With every line, I recalled a moment, planned or unplanned, that had transported me. It was the sum of all these parts that reminded me of all that I had accomplished and all that I have left to do.

I shared the list with my parents and a few friends. When at the end of that summer, I packed up my car and moved halfway across the country, my mom presented the list to me in a frame. Again at my wedding, my older sister read the list in lieu of a speech. Today, as I cleaned my office to prepare for my parents to stay here after the baby is born, I found the framed copy. And again, I am reminded.   

In the past year I...
July 5, 2004- July 5, 2005

Traveled to another country alone

Lived in Australia

Learned another culture

Traveled the eastern Australian coast

Met amazing friends

Fell in love

Snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef

Held a koala

Hugged a kangaroo

Ate kangaroo

Danced on a fire bar

Chilled in an ice bar

Traveled to New Zealand

Went bungee jumping

Went white water rafting

Dove out of an airplane

Rode in a jet boat

Hiked up a glacier

Fell through ice

Conquered a fear

Flew in a helicopter

Climbed an iceberg

Tried absinthe

Went on a road trip

Played with dolphins

Stayed in a hostel

Learned to surf

Flew in 30 planes

Saw an opera in Sydney

Saw the Red Sox win the World Series

Traveled to Minnesota

Traveled to Wisconsin

Celebrated with a Valentine

Tried sushi

Lost a passport

Almost lost a loved one

Walked all night for Relay for Life

Did an internship

Wrote my thesis

Decided to move

Graduated college

Turned 22