All Clear~

Oh, this morning! Oh, this morning!

I woke up with the sun. "Merry Christmas!" was on my lips and a smile adorned my cheeks. *Cue crashing realization that I, indeed, was scheduled to work today.* --Shoulders Sag--Audible Sigh (okay, maybe it was more like an agonized groan)--Hands on Hip--and yes, there was also one (or two?) stamped feet. Oh, this Morning! Ugh, this morning!

As I scanned the room, what would catch my eye but my Ziploc full o' zazzle! I clutched desperately for the small pouch of glitter (the one that I keep on hand for such times as this....you know, those dire emergencies...) Oh, salvation of sparkle! --Do please redeem my bad attitude from this pit of self pity~ (And it did!) I decided to take it one step further and go all out (none of you should be surprised by this one bit), as I rocked the festive green and gold glitter tagteam today....so I pretty much (if we are using our imaginations--having the red hair, coupled with the green and gold glow--was my own friggin' Christmas ornament!) Oh, this morning! Glow, this morning!

At work the patrons were in full holiday spirit. The families file through the gallery...fathers holding their children's hands, babies clutching their mothers and napping in their strollers. All are jolly and bright, out and about after a sweet time of togetherness unwrapping gifts, reading the Christmas story and discovering who Santa deemed "good" this year. The gush of good spirits is overwhelming, rushing over me like a tidal wave. It is beautiful to see. It is painful to feel. Oh, this Morning. Alone, This morning.

I could sense tiny tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. I quickly reached up to paw away the proof of my self-indulgent "sorrow." As I looked down at my hands again, I see I have smudged my glitter....I was covered in resplendent sparkles, but all I could see was green. Oh, this Morning. Low, this morning.

I asked myself if I was indeed, my own little version of the "green eyed monster"...was it jealousy that was presently creeping its way in and blackening my heart? Not exactly....but I wanted to place what was bothering me. I was not begrudging of the people their time shared in rest and vacation with their families and loved ones, nor was I angered by the fact that I was having to work on Christmas day. No, I realized that what I was envious of, was that all of those people coming through those doors, once they bought their pastries and drinks, would make their way home together. For the first time this day I realized that the sights and sounds that were assaulting my eyes were not the people themselves, but rather what they symbolized to my heart....*home.* I looked around at the girls I work with--the fatigue that furrowed each brow--the frustration of finding themselves taken away from loved ones in order to serve strangers--yet, simultaneously, upon closer examination, I also witnessed the team effort and human spirit that rallied as each sought to stave off the spirit of negativity in order to bless and love all who entered in to their small sphere of influence. I saw in this moment, that we were all in this together...and that joy and peace was *and had to be* within each of us. Oh, this morning. Home, this morning.

I left work and got to my apartment. It had been a long day...yet a good one. I walked into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. I bent my face towards the water and felt its cool, cleansing kiss upon my cheeks. As it washed over me, I opened my eyes to watch as the swirling green remnants disappeared. I willed myself to continue my gaze until the all the green was gone...

Semantics~

I have been remiss in writing for awhile. Mea Culpa. I believe that most of my thoughts regarding this were simply that I was too busy with life and living to take time out to write. This thought pattern has caused me to think upon what exactly I see the role of writing as playing in my life.

I remember when I was at University, I saw myself as writing to live. Writing was my sanity in times of distress, my companion in lonely hours, and my saving grace when all else failed me. On those days when all seemed to overwhelming to process, I could sit down at my desk--delve into my thoughts, pen my frustrations, and trudge my way through the murky waters of life armed with what I saw as my only appropriate ammo--*bring out the Bic guns...* I realize many would say that this is a frightening position to find oneself in--being so dependent upon writing as a source of solace and stability. I would agree.

Knowing this, I always believed then, that the ultimate goal would be to convert the pattern of “writing to live” into “living to write”. I would have peers who seemed to eat, sleep and breathe writing. They voraciously read books, and intelligence, wit, and candor seemed to ooze out of their every pore. I loathed them (okay, maybe they just really, really irked me…) These peers could be overheard on a daily basis waxing eloquent about their next literary masterpiece, or how many pages they had written in their upcoming manuscript. And, to be sure, when all was finished, and the fruit of their labor was unveiled…it was almost always sheer genius and superbly divine. Yes, those that lived to write…as if it was inextricably tied to their very essence of their being…were indeed talented….yet I was not one of them. I *still* am not one of them…although I have often tried to be. I find that, although I enjoy the creative process of writing (and the literary, evolutional journey of reading as well)—I do not crave these things with an insatiable appetite. Although I, too, am able to pen semi-coherent and (albeit sporadically) thought-provoking workmanship, I have no illusions that Alfred Nobel will be knocking down my door any day soon. No, I do not live to write...

Today, in the wee hours of yet another crisp, Hawaiian morning….I am outside watching the sun rise over the jagged cerulean waves. I am waking--writing this small entry--musing, seeking, hoping, wondering---*being*. I think I am one that will just live AND write. I will not master either most likely, to the point that it embodies all that is within me…neither will probably overtake the other due to its sheer genius or notoriety—or even stellar quality. But, this morning, I am starting to see small glimmers—beginning to believe—awakening to a new awareness, that sometimes having a little of both (in so many areas) is best. “Just” living and writing can be more than enough—and this "place" is where I find myself...and make my home today.