A few days ago, I was talking with a good friend and told her that part of my lull in creativity (at least the mood part of it) is likely due to the fact that when I look back at the majority of my life, so much of it contains amazing, weird or fun stories–when it comes to the past two years or so, I can’t boast that. There has been so much financial struggle and worry–my life not feeling like my own, but that of an indentured servant with little to show for all my efforts, that I look back on it and see a murky, stagnant bog. This reality isn’t quite accurate–I do have memories of some really loverly things that have happened in that time, though they have been infrequent. My dad says it’s time for a new adventure, and I could not agree more. I still do my best to be observant and see the beautiful and wondrous things around me, but no one really wants to hear me say “I saw the cutest chipmunks making a raceway out of a neighborhood street today!” It kind of ends there and I can’t elaborate on it. Picture painted–voila! Move along. My stories have not been particularly substantial, by comparison to prior to my money woes–it has been a struggle and I’ve kept a lot of it to myself (though there are the few people close to me who have heard it all–and I really love them for being there to listen!), so to me, there hasn’t been a lot to share in cheer. At least, not things I think others would consider entertaining or noteworthy.

That being said, I talked to someone else about this today. I really treasure her perspective, because she told me that this transition period that I have been going through: people can understand and relate to it. It’s something that can still reach them, though in a very different (and according to her, important) way. It has got me to thinking how I don’t want people to necessarily look at me and say “Wow! She’s really got it together!!” What I want and need is for people to look at me and say “I understand what she’s going through, and I’m inspired by how/that she’s getting through it!”

I do have a lot of struggles going on right now–several of the big ones enough out of my control to make me very uncomfortable for now–but I am also grateful for the hundreds of little things that are good and that I realize I am doing right. It makes me think of the driveway hill of a neighbor from way back when I was little–it was covered with forget-me-nots. I loved those flowers. I loved them so much that every day that I saw them, I wanted to pick them. My mom told me not to and I never did. They were tiny, but they were beautiful, and when I saw how many there were all together on that hill, it was a whole LOT of beautiful…

That is my lesson in this mud-blind transitional time: not to forget the whole LOT of beautiful, made up of one blossoming moment, word, breath, or thing at a time.