The familiar rumblings of self-deprecation have been filling my head of late. I’m aware of a financial drain hole that needs stopping up, I’m not exactly producing any great financial product for our family at the moment. To be real, I never have.  And this fact, this little nibbler of my self-esteem, sometimes over powers my creative and adventuress self.  I feel less.

When we arrived in Washington state I felt awash with the possibility of ME. I had creative juices bubbling that hadn’t been that reactive since, well maybe since my daughter was born 7 years ago.  I’d like to be able to only blame our stint in the humidity for my lack of luster, but actually I had been on the downhill for several years and if I stop and give myself credit, a lot of shit had hit the fan personally.  I just couldn’t believe in me, or push anything exceptional out.  Well, that’s how I felt, it doesn’t matter if it’s reality or not. Reflectively I know I’m not very patient – especially with me, and when things are continually on the up, I get down.

Yesterday, post art class night (and I promise to tell you about art night), my new friend (yes, a friend), and neighbor joked with my sister about how “much” I take on. How “busy” I am.  It was that snarky busy, said with a little distaste even, I have heard spoken about me before by many people I hold dear.  It was also, I fully acknowledge, said in fun maybe even said out of appreciation. They were teasing and being self-deprecating of themselves, and their not as busy schedules.  As much as it could have been a compliment (“You Row, you paint, are you going to build a house now?”), isn’t it interesting that what I hear when someone calls me “busy” is “You’re crazy”, or “you’re uncommitted”, or worse “you’re a flouncy flibberdy-jibbit housewife”.  That’s what I hear. People, that’s what I tell myself.

I’m not very patient with me. I have set standards that far exceed the masses and I don’t reach them. I can’t reach them, because I am not superhuman. I don’t hold these standards for anyone else around me (thank god), I just ram them down my own throat, almost constantly. On some days I am so overwhelmed by my own lacking ability to generate income, to be creative enough, skinny enough, worldly enough,  that I just plop down and watch TV.  “There’s nothing else to do really, because as you know, I’m a loser,” I think subconsciously.

This is habit.

I have habitually compromised my self-esteem for most of my life.  My good friends, those who hold a golden part of my heart, don’t manage to make me feel like I have ADHD professionally very often. A rare few look at me and fill me with a sense of accomplishment. They see what I have done, and they resonate it. One of my dearest pals once said “you have a lot of arrows in your quiver because you never know which one you’ll need to shoot.”   That was perhaps the best compliment I’ve ever had. It perfectly captures how I want to feel. I want all of life, every corner of it, and in order to play (compete) in so many quadrants I have to be ready.  On my good days I feel that way.

As fall has fallen, autumn sweeping her cold fingers in around our toes and pinching our cheeks pink, I have found myself enamored. If I could get a job that was just about doing Autumn, I would add it to my quiver. It probably wouldn’t pay well, and I’m sure my sister would make fun of me light-heartedly, but it does seem nice doesn’t it?  My new neighbor friend is teaching wreath making workshops. This seems brilliant to me, I want to do that too, but then I would just be waffling between interests, wouldn’t I. Then I would be made fun of for being Fall. This is what I tell myself.

I need to be patient. I need to let my mind slide into a cold state that focuses on one crystalline snowflake, one ice branch, one perfect part of me. I need to slow with my metabolism and accept each corner of my busy brain, my “busy” life. I am not doing things I hate. I am not hurting others. I am living a full, and fuller me. This is not bad. This does not require I assure people of themselves. This does not make me a flibberdy-jibbit.

If  (and it’s really possible), I take a “real job” amid all my apparent hobbies (I think others would call my creative goings on hobbies), then so be it.  My work for money does not have to determine who I am as a human and likewise, just because I work a normal humanoid job does not mean I have to give up my creative self. I can and will be both. This is the root of 13 Adventures, is it not?

So this is my short-term goal: I will react in the positive when I am next accused. I will not self-deprecate. I will not be ashamed. I will smile and agree with them – “Yes, I am busy. Isn’t it great?!”