My art journal and painting themes are quickly becoming permission slips for myself. Focusing on granting my heart the thing it needs at that moment and somehow silencing my very loud, harsh, inner critic.
She’s a bitch and always tells me what to do, doesn’t let me sleep when I need to and is generally just cruel. She comes out the most when I need a break, and makes me feel bad about not doing things immediately and has no patience. She claims the world will end if those chores aren’t done right now and berates me when I wait and condescendingly tells me “If you had done it earlier, you wouldn’t have to do it now while you’re trying to do this other thing.”
Or, her other favorite:
“You’re really stupid and worthless, you should have been doing something constructive instead. Something to make money instead of doing all this useless crap. You’re not even good at anything anyway”
Somedays, she holds me hostage and I can’t bring myself to do anything (literally).
After wrestling all day with Miss Monday, I realized that art would be the one thing to make her go away. While it’s text and words, is the permission I needed to see and Miss Monday decided to start backing off. Finally.
Switched bags for tonight and my trip tomorrow. I plan on filming a segment, if not an entire special episode for next week while I’m off adventuring. Both at the Avenger’s midnight premier and in Boston before/after The Nerdist Podcast.
I need to sleep more, but I just got my hair all perfect for going to the game thing tonight so I don’t want to lay on it. Also, I’m way too excited (and woke up way too early) about the next 36 hours. I can always sleep on the train, and sleep until I need to get ready to leave tomorrow.
I was having a hard time not feeling guilty all week because life happened and ruined my plans of finishing badges, Mass Effect 3, and starting on a new painting set – but it supplemented it with better things, so I shouldn’t feel bad right? For some reason, when I write things down and say “I’m going to get this done this week” I feel bad when I don’t. Which is good, I guess, but I shouldn’t let it get to me to the point where I stress about it because there are more fun things to do but I told myself I’d do X, Y, and Z instead.
It’s weird sometimes, how one different decision can affect your general…I don’t know, decision-making-outlook for a brief time (or longer). Like, deciding to go to the game night instead of turning it down – one unusual decision lead to, hey, you know if I really wanted to, I COULD go to Boston. Another, even more unusual decision. And then doing that.
Making unusual decisions is really scary, but it’s the good kind of scary, it’s the scary that makes you feel like you’re alive and actively involved in your life instead of passively. Unusual decisions lead to new experiences and adventures, which fit well with my word and my 21 things. I wanted to be more social, and do something that scares me and making unusual decisions (or decisions that I don’t generally make in favor of staying in my comfort zone) allow me to do that.
and tell myself what I really need and what my motives are, I get this.
And then my brain feels really sheepish about it, like maybe it’s really lame and I’m incapable of mattering or doing things that matter. I think it’s just upset that it kept it hidden and in the shadows for so long, because it feels so scary to say it; and to name the things that drive me and have driven me since I went down that slide in the playground thinking I could be a hero like Balto when I was three.
I’ve wanted to be an art journaler for a long time, but every time I started I’d stop. I think it was because subconsciously I never really felt good enough. I loved other people’s art journals – in books, with loads of paint, or collages. But I’ve never really been able to do that (I can’t bring myself to write in books) and I wanted my journal to look cool too, so I sort of just got hung up.
A few days ago, I discovered The Art Journaler and their April prompt which somehow made it okay. Then, yesterday, I was hunting down a letter to tape to my journal-journal with another letter and I stumbled across some of my old notebooks from 2009 on. As I flipped through them, with the rambled notes and illustrations in the corner I realized, I’d been art journaling before I even realized I was an artist. And it wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t collage-y or dedicated (I had business ideas, math, sermon notes, and random marriage notes in with my thoughts) it was mine – and my art has improved a lot since then.
Which somehow made me realize something. It’s just a journal, and I don’t have to compare it and it doesn’t have to be like anyone else’s and it doesn’t have to be worthy, because it already is, because it’s mine. So lately, I’ve been toting around my pentalic recycled drawing book that I got on vacation last summer, and my sign pen markers I got for christmas; and drawing, coloring, and writing whatever prompts me, whatever thoughts I have in my head, and whatever I feel like I need to get down before I lose it.
If it’s particularly lengthy though, I have my shiny “live free” notebook my sister-in-law gave me for christmas that I’ve turned into my journal-journal. Pretty notebooks make good journals.
I want to be
the eccentric 60 year old with sapphire hair
and kind eyes.
When I’m 50 I want to not care
I will be me
I will learn life’s lessons and love freely.
I want to be a vibrant 30 and 40 year old
I want to be a graceful 20 something
who makes people feel at ease
and accepts everyone for themselves
I’ll be the woman with the sapphire hair
who’s lead an amazing and full life
who’s success does not depend on the amount of children she bore
but the love she showed to everyone.
I will be creative, kind, graceful, and calm.
I’ll be the woman with the sapphire hair.