After a long artsy hiatus (I can thank institute for that), I am finally painting again. Words fail me when I try to convey how I feel when paint is dripping from my fingertips and onto canvas…there is an element that is so fulfilling yet decompressing about creating. When I am creating I can lose myself in colors and textures, emotions and dreams. All of the brokenness seems to spill out of me and is eaten up by the canvas; Love can bubble up and foam around me.
Teaching has consumed my life for the last few months. I am passionate about my career, passionate about closing the gaping achievement gap that ravages the children and community I work with. However, when I made this move, I made a commitement to myself to find balance. As roomie would say, I made a commitment to “just do H.A.” I felt really lost this past year; I gave up myself for a boy (do we all do this at some point?). He never asked me to, but love makes you do crazy things. I moved away from everyone I loved to the middle of nowhere. I stopped painting, stopped creating. I was not on a path to further myself or my future. I was willing to sacrifice everything. I waited…and waited…and waited for him to ask me to stay. To not go. I waited for him to make the leap.
It never happened.
I am finding myself again, figuring out where exactly I lost myself and struggling to put the pieces back in place. I am intense; I keep people at bay and am quick to retreat into my shell when threatened. Painting allows me to breathe, it makes my diaphragm relax and the tightness in my shoulders loosen up. What helps you breathe?
