Sunday, November 10, 2013

Of Perennials, and a note to myself.

This year....
I blew out a candle.
28 more would have made 29.
A year that, for whatever reason, hits me like a ton of bricks. 
I can't say it's the first of birthdays I thought I was getting old, 
(how I know so many of you are laughing at me now, thinking "Hah! 29, girl you are YOUNG!")

But this year I feel a little weird about it.
I feel younger than I ever have felt.
I feel naive. I feel afraid.
I feel big, scary things ahead.

I built some jewelry this fall that i think is a start to something....good.
I am getting better, 
definitely stronger,
thoughts more and more finalized in metal.
And it feels good.

it feels great.

I feel like I'm making art and not inventory. 
and now I know how important that distinction is...
one a vehicle sometimes for the other, 
sliding off eachother, building from one another.

I am feeling more and more like the metalsmith I know I can be. 
I feel more and more like that scary word *artist*
That growth is so important.  I can own it.  It's MINE.
That work was challenging, and complex, and well,  it was HARD.
I was expressive, and concrete, and I pushed myself technically.
And I liked it. 

But I feel a year gone by, and I step back to see what it is I have done.

And where I am going.  
I feel the cool nights sneaking up me here in the northwest,
 the cold winter sliding it's way into my cool fall....
I feel it in my bones.
A change of seasons. 
A change in myself.  
ah F***, another year gone by! Already!

and then...I get itchy for more.  I get intent on change. 
Restless is a word, although I feel like it's more than that. 
I light a fire under my own ass and expect results. ASAP.
I DEMAND change from myself,
from everyone around me.
from everything I know to be solid and anchoring.
and not without resistance. anger. fear. frustration.
From myself.
and from others.
a fitful time, really.

I think it's called growth.

As I've gotten older, I am starting to understand it a little better.
It's not such a shock anymore,
this perennial restlessness.
It's seasonal.  Like a final harvest.
Or when the leaves finally decide to let go of their trees.

Not everyone wants change.  
Not everyone likes it like you do, Erin. 
Not everyone is the leaf throwing themselves into the wind.

Remember that.


Like Brandi Carlile sings:
"I'm warning you, We're growing up..."