Saying no to foolish consistency - blog repost

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Adjustments and revisions

Time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations. ~Faith Baldwin

The ability to change our minds has to be one of the great gifts of being assigned life in human form. There is no rule or requirement that we continue to be who we were yesterday. If we can't change our spots, we can alter the way in which we judge them.

Revisions, adjustments, reconsiderations and about-faces are not signs of uncertainty but of awareness. I know discomfort is quantifiable and our wish to escape it, universal. Nothing else works quite as well as doing something - or everything - differently.

Think of these words as a kiss on the forehead, a blessing to go forward with a growing suspicion that not all of this is engraved on non-returnable marble. We are allowed, without being fined for littering, to leave ill-fitting notions, opinions, by the side of the road. Many of them will reappear to haunt and hector when we are vulnerable, but their visits will grown less frequent, their forms less substantial.

It may be foolishness taken to the extreme, but I have grown to believe that life, and our untidy, idiosyncratic ways of living it, are not meant to be sources of chronic disappointment. Whether we find happiness because of or in spite of our circumstances, a measure of peace and optimism is the goal.

Regardless of what you've heard or where you heard it, there is no such thing as too old to change. A feeble excuse at best, I can no longer even sell it to myself.

11 comments:

Angella Lister said...

Marylinn, you are a modern philosopher and this post is exactly EXACTLY what i needed to hear today. Every word here is simply perfect, thank you.

November 22, 2011 at 11:08 AM

Laoch of Chicago said...

Well said.

November 22, 2011 at 11:52 AM

Marylinn Kelly said...

Angella - Thank you. I am always reassured to know what is tugging at me is also loitering on the doorsteps of others. xo

November 22, 2011 at 3:32 PM

Marylinn Kelly said...

Laoch - Thank you. Happy Thanksgiving.

November 22, 2011 at 3:32 PM

Yvette said...

I'm trying to agree completely. Definitely trying. :)

Ah, what the heck, I do agree. You're never too old. I think sometimes I bash myself over the head with that and wonder if I mean it. Especially when I'm feeling especially fed up.

Enjoyed reading your well thought out post. Really.

November 22, 2011 at 3:49 PM

Yvette said...

And by the way, forgot to add: Have a GREAT THANKSGIVING!

November 22, 2011 at 3:50 PM

Elisabeth said...

I've been thinking about the need for change, too, Marylinn so I find your post helpful. It's so important to remain flexible and not to resist the inevitability of change, but to embrace it.

November 22, 2011 at 6:06 PM

Marylinn Kelly said...

Yvette - Thank you. No, when I try to tell myself some of the reasons (read: excuses) why change is no longer possible, I am not very convincing. Happy Thanksgiving to you. We will be enjoying our holiday video fest.

November 22, 2011 at 7:56 PM

Marylinn Kelly said...

Elisabeth - Thank you. My feeling, too, which is why the quote was so appealing: alterations go on forever.

November 22, 2011 at 7:58 PM

Claire Beynon said...

Another wonderful post, dear Marylinn.

Change (and sometimes we know this only once we are through it) is vital, a gift, our human imperative?

Yesterday, I heard the words 'Happiness is a result of gratitude, not the other way round. . . ' So much begins and ends in gratitude - and so much, in wonder. I lose sight of these truths at times but deep in my bones I know. Thanks for this permission-giving message, Marylinn, esp. 'We are allowed, without being fined for littering, to leave ill-fitting notions, opinions, by the side of the road. Many of them will reappear to haunt and vector when we are vulnerable, but their visits will grow less frequent, their forms less substantial. . . '. Yes, and thank you.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING dear friend. xo

November 25, 2011 at 8:52 AM

Marylinn Kelly said...

Claire - Thank you. Oh, it took me so long to learn that it all begins with gratitude, for every thing, in every moment. And when we notice the gifts, we find wonder and love. We have more choices than we realize, certainly more than I realized, and began to choose points of view, beliefs, emotions that made everything less fraught. If we never had those moments of conscious forgetting, we would be sages, holy women, not the creatures who go about turning over rocks with sticks that we are. Love to you, Marylinn

November 25, 2011 at 11:48 AM

Word of the Week - 89

House and Garden magazine, December 1969.

Inside H&G, Dec., 1969, a Gloria Vanderbilt Christmas.  One of her collages on the wall above.  Source.

Word(s) of the Week: CHRISTMAS MAGAZINES

Once upon a time I had a well-traveled, frequently-moved stash of December issues of all the house lovely magazines of the day.  Decorations, recipes, wrapping, homemade gifts.  Revisiting them each year was a source of inspiration and comfort.  I'd collected them since the end of the 1960s, through the 70s and into 80s.  Each year around this time, I'd pull out the stack and wander through them, one by one.

As I write this on Saturday, November 14, I recall how life's harder moments were softened by the sight of Christmas lights, thoughts of package wrapping to come, extravagantly decorated cookies that reminded me of those my mother created when my brother, sister and I were young children.  It was the early 1950s and, until Martha Steward introduced us to the art, perhaps in this century, I'd never seen anyone but our mom paint frosting on cookies.  A woman ahead of her time.

Too many changes of residence, not really so many in the larger picture but enough that shifting stuff from place to place lost its luster. and one November day I realized that my mood-lifting magazines weren't with me.  Earlier this year, an artist friend wrote to tell me she'd found on ebay a copy of the now-fabled and rare House and Garden December 1969 issue with the Gloria Vanderbilt Christmas and how it was all that she remembered before her copy had gone missing.  Trust me when I tell you these are photos we would all look at through magnifying glasses, wanting to capture each shy figure or nuanced grouping.  I was delighted for her and I wish there had been two copies.

I enjoy Christmas most by looking backward, at my own celebrations and those of others.  I still harbor dreams of stumbling into the shuttered shop or flea market booth where all manner of extinct gift wrap nestles in dusty cellophane, for sale at its original price.  When our hearts ache for any reason, we know instantly what will ease that sadness.  Mary Engelbreit and Martha Stewart, with their ribbons and color are perfect companions for me today, offering a place on their pages where all is merry and bright.  No more news, maybe fewer tears.  I do not believe it is shallow to find solace in beauty and memories of joy.  I believe those things exist exactly for that purpose.

Maya Angelou, Jean-Michel Basquiat Repost

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Angelou, Basquiat and fear

Illustration by Jean-Michel Basquiat.

There IS a difference between frighten and befuddle, though when the lights are out and the water is rising, one might be mistaken for the other.  As I shiver in our 40+ degree dawns I think of Long Islanders who are still without electricity, for whom 44 might seem almost balmy.

I want a magic charm to keep up my sleeve.  I want rows of charms, worn bandolier-style like a Girl Scout sash with amulets in place of badges.  I want pockets for my ammunition in case life breaks out in forms too unexpectedly unwelcome.

Blog writers whom I follow as consistently as I can, which could be defined at the present as not very, confront daily events that would leave me shell-shocked, immobilized.  "Don't compare pain" is advice carried from various recovery group sessions.  Still.  Most of us are given circumstances that we are expected to endure, for it is not within our power to change them.  Once the whimpering, in my case, stops, comes time for the winnowing.  How can I see this (or these) differently, what CAN I change, is there peace to be found within discouragement, certainly within multiple imperfections?

Definitions can be adjusted, the word imperfect changed to read ideal.  How much are we handed that is ideal?   Life is a make-do business.  Mostly.  Am I frightened or am I resistant?  They are not the same.  Am I capable of evolving, of becoming the flexible, adaptable creature that survives growing older with optimism and good humor?  Can I believe in myself and my work when connections to the numinous suddenly feel thin and fragile?

Certainty would be a fine thing, certainty of the good outcome,  unfailing trust in resilience and the transcending of all which is irksome or unsettling, guarantees of safety, of wisdom, of ability.  Wish for the moon, then go back and read the contract.  The word guarantee does not appear.

When I feel, because of orbiting planets or undulating chemistry, that I am flimsy and vulnerable, fear starts to wriggle in under the tent or over the transom.  I forget that I am both wave and particle, solid and gas, earth and sky.  I become foggy and forget the only thing we can count on is change.  I lose the grasp on my gifts, that I am one among the great shape shifters, the mind changers, the course adjusters.  I am most frightened when I fail to remember who I am.

10 comments:

Angella said...

This is such a song of life, so inspirational really, even though you may not have thought you were giving succor with these words. They are beautiful. The remind me to endure, to remember that so much of this dance is fear, is illusion, and we only give in to all that when we forget who we are. Thank you.

November 13, 2012 at 10:34 AM

Marylinn Kelly said...

Angella - Thank you. Do you find everything to be a process, as I do? Everything needing to be worked from A to whatever letter we reach, and with good fortune finding something not too slippery to hold on to, the enoughness of us. Perhaps for today we can remember that we are that, enough. xo

November 13, 2012 at 11:07 AM

AZALEA ART PRESS said...

Wonderful post, Marylinn . . . and I love this book. It is still in my library after criss-crossing the country several times now and divesting myself of much of my library in the process.

You are much loved for your clarity, your clairvoyance, your crystal clear view of the human condition.

xoxoxo
Karen

November 13, 2012 at 7:41 PM

Marylinn Kelly said...

Karen - Thank you. How I missed knowing about the book until recently I can't say but was glad to have found it. We are certainly here, doing hand-to-hand with the human condition, are we not? xo

November 14, 2012 at 8:20 AM

susan t. landry said...

i did not know about this book, either--and i have to say it seems like an inspired collaboration. maya angelou has become a national salt-of-the-earth fairy godmother, with her beautiful voice and language and her no-nonsense spirit...and poor basquiat, a fallen angel, an artist manqué. your beautiful observations as usual, marylinn, take everything to another level.
thanx!

November 14, 2012 at 11:49 AM

Marylinn Kelly said...

Susan - Thank you. Inspired collaboration was just how I saw it. The images which disquiet, the words that reassure, their trajectories in such contrast. xo

November 16, 2012 at 12:11 PM

Antares Cryptos said...

Don't compare anything.

Looking up at the sky, knowing how inhospitable space actually is reminds me every time how improbable our existence actually is.

November 16, 2012 at 4:21 PM

Marylinn Kelly said...

Antares - Comparing is the dying star of old habits. It is/we are truly the most improbable result of infinite chances. xo

November 19, 2012 at 10:14 AM

RachelVB said...

I found this quote from Anias Nin: I must be a mermaid ... I have no fear of great depths and a great fear of shallow living."

I don't know why, quite yet, but your post reminded me of this. I suppose because no matter what we consider our flaws, we can define ourselves as something beautiful.

November 21, 2012 at 10:15 AM

Marylinn Kelly said...

Rachel - What a lovely thought, one to be held tightly. There are too many days when my limited vision has trouble finding beautiful. Aren't comparisons the most deadly things? xo

November 22, 2012 at 1:45 PM

Christmas coloring started. Yes. It's true.

Christmas coloring (RubberMoon mk962) begun before the middle of November, postcard art uploaded and cards on their way.  A world of wonder.

A reminder that RubberMoon is an angel company, which means if you are using our stamps on products for sale, they must be individually hand stamped.  However, if what you are making is for your own use or as gifts, not profit, the images may be reproduced.  Meaning you can make cards, tags, stickers and such with color copies of your stamping art.  There, don't you feel less stressed already?

Remember that the fabulous Claudia Rose joined the family not long ago.  Her images are pure delight and stamps make such lovely presents.  Every single RubberMoon artist has designs that will speak to your heart.  As you sip your favorite autumn beverage, give yourself the treat of wandering through the catalog.  And remember, there are classes and art supplies, too.  Visit us on Facebook, like the page and sign up for notifications.

Stay tuned, this could be a very RubberyMoony Christmas.

Word of the Week - 88

Word of the Week: SELF-HELP

Let's say that we are in life as we may be in dreams, multiple characters in our own story.  Victim and rescuer, speaker and listener, question and answer.  This may sound like old business to many of you but it seems a fresh notion to me, brought on by my listening again to Beth Orton sing "Sisters of Mercy."  That may be us, "Sisters of Mercy," binding up our wounds. 

As I participate in a meditation course on beliefs, the process carves open pockets of emptiness, even if just for a moment or two, space in which no debris has collected, places of possibility.  Since I often feel what passes for real life is a bill of goods in which we are constantly being urged to reinvest, it is not such a leap for me to consider that much of what we've been told is essentially untrue, that it has always been untrue.  Consider this:  what if we are not the lesser beings we always felt ourselves to be. 

So I walk around the edges of the song, the entire notion of mercy and deliverance, and wonder is it wholly interior work.  If this is the true and natural order, our acting as self-healers,  no wonder so many of us have grown quite elderly and weary waiting for rescue to come from external sources.  As I say, this may be a familiar idea for you.  I stopped looking at so-called self-help books decades ago, deciding it might be less exhausting to blunder along in a state of disrepair than to try and mend, according to one specific set of instructions or another, all that I believed was broken.  In my long-ago experience with self-help, I never had the sense of it being a process which one undertook for the long haul, the gradual merging of this into that organically.  The books or PBS presentations always seemed to half-promise remarkable and rapid transformation, desirable as we judged our present manifestation to be so unpalatable, so wrong. 

For this same reason I don't read books in which women especially embark on a journey - physical/spiritual - of rather short duration after which they become, quite simply, THE light.  Such journeys, the expense of them alone, and such starry outcomes are not within ordinary grasp.  Few humans transcend in this fashion.  We are not less if we illuminate a smaller patch.  Again I return to an acknowledgement of process, of time and effort.  That progress as we measure it may not be swift does not make it any less remarkable.   At 70 years and counting, I will likely never believe there is a destination we reach in this lifetime.

We lay our own hands upon our hearts and souls.   In our heads we repeat mantras that pull us closer to center.  A quiet mind is the best friend I can hope for.   As it seems to be the most workable choice, is it not okay to remain part caterpillar, part butterfly, 100% work in progress?  It is the only solution I can imagine that moves us forward without discarding the best-loved and loyal parts of us, a bit threadbare though some may be, that have brought us this far. 

Word of the Week - 87

NaNoWriMo illustration, courtesy of this blog.

Word of the Week:  NOVEMBER

Twice I've been an unofficial participant in NaNoWriMo, short for National Novel Writing Month, which takes place each November.  I say unofficial for while I've done the work, I have not submitted it for word count verification, etc.

When I began, I understood the guidelines to be:  between November 1 and 30, write a minimum of 50,000 words of a novel, only a novel but in any form or genre, and, as I recall the first year I looked up the rules, we were told not to edit, not even to backspace, but to fly forward with all possible speed.  Both times I met and exceeded the word goal, though the first attempt could hardly be called a novel, more likely an exercise is writing really fast.  The second was more novel-shaped and contained many parts that could be salvaged and reworked.  I'm still not certain that I wish to write a novel.  I know I have no wish to try and sell one.

This October, as notices of NaNoWriMo began to appear, I decided I needed to apply that focus to something currently more important, my neglected art.  If I am successful, I'll report about finding my way back to a drawing practice, something I miss enormously.  The days become full and I grow weary before I've done any of that work which is at least as much a part of me as writing.  The fact that time seems to evaporate around me does not make anything easier.  How can it be November of 2015 already?

I'm telling this because I believe I am capable of more than I do,  by setting up some realistic daily requirements I can add a specific joy back into my life.  I may need to give myself a schedule that limits Facebook to certain days a week.   I know I'll miss the people and things I find there - my version of curating is also a source of happiness - but those stamps aren't going to draw themselves.  We are asked to make choices.  As I write this around noon on Sunday, I have behind me an hour of drawing, done before I even turned on the computer.  That is how it will have to be.  On Saturday I completed an eight-episode Halloween story, which I'd intended to be three episodes.  I enjoyed the work and woke up on Sunday thinking of the characters and what might be next for them.  I wonder the same for myself.