Learning about patterns these days, not the unfortunate 70’s dresses type but brain patterns, habits – ruts in the mind’s road.
I’m changing things up in here – here – I’m changing here. I’m changing it all and nothing. I’m a whirling dervish – a parachute jumper – a raucous rider of the tides! No, no I’m not – I’m a half numb virgo who’s mostly doing ok. OK is brilliant.
Changing the way I create – produce – send out offerings. That’s more like it -I’m going to be sending out offerings. Less locked in seasonal production and creating more one or two or maybe three of a kinds – three of a kinds? Probably not, well, there are those pullovers that turn into your favorites. No matter. Hand brewing is a little different every time. Like a packet of zinnias. Yes?
Reaching up towards glory.
Or a Cinderella pumpkin, every curve a little different from the next. That’s some organic.
But for now I can’t even wrap my head around the stop of the rush rush towards a “season”. Or the freedom that comes from doing exactly what I itch to. Spring is on my mind. Next spring. Bright skies and planting new. Swishing dresses and soft shirts with good boots and old jeans. A visit to Santa Fe roped me in and held me captive. I can’t fathom winter. A bright winter. What does that mean? Snow and sun and city days.
Summer outside and fall brewing in my cup of chai tea and percolating on the inspiration boards and golden lamp light in studio space. Chai tea, deep wine nights, and golden lamp light -so far -fall means that.
And a little Brene Brown again. She’s a new teacher after each bend in the road, thanking my pal Jennivieve for reminding me of that.
Beautifully stated … and know that you are not alone in this pursuit. I’m doing the exact same thing. Dismantling old models and motifs and patterns and opening up to a whole new way of being. Carving out new pathways, crawling out of those deeply etched synaptic ruts and making some new ones. Good luck to us both.