I sit here at my desk, alone...There is a hugh stack of papers on my desk... I've been staring at them for a couple of hours now... I'd rather not look at them today. I wonder if I could just make them disappear? Would that make me happy?
Sometimes, I wonder what "happy" really is? What actually makes us smile? Some of us seem to be happy and some of us should be happy...
One of the things I haven't figured out about myself, in the last 261 days, is what I really want at certain moments when I crave for something more from life? What would make me really happy? Anything materialistic does not satisfy the craving most of the time, but, at times, I ask myself this question to keep my thoughts on track. I have to ask myself this question as a reminder of who I am, how far I've come, and what I need to do in order to keep a good outlook on my life.
You guys, my readers, come here to read about what I have to say "every single day". Usually, people with normal lives and normal childhoods don't have anything different or interesting to put out. Well, I'm pretty normal... too normal sometimes. The more I write, the more I know, and learn, about myself.
There is a pay phone across the street from the gallery. Almost every week, I watch two different moms with their baby strollers, walk up to the pay phone, call someone, and, usually, end up yelling and screaming at the pay phone. On really bad days, they end up hitting the phone on the walls of the pay phone, hanging it up, and picking up their child, roughly, as they walk away yelling and screaming. I sit here and watch until they walk away, as I think, "I'm really lucky to be on this side of the street..."
Going through art school, I'd see great work by students. Usually, the ones that had great work were the ones who had something tragic happen to them or they'd had a different life growing up. I'd compare myself to them and it would make me feel like I didn't have anything interesting to say because I had, and have, such a normal life. There was always that gap between the sadness in my life, which I had very little of, and my art work. The two never met...
I've had sadness in the past... some things I won't ever forget, but when it comes down to expressing myself the way I feel is right, I don't lean on the sadness. I usually lean towards the good things... the things my smiles are made of...
Yesterday, I was painting... and while I was painting, I thought, "Just paint!" I've always thought about what things should be like, or look like, in their final state. These days, I try to let go of all my expectations, and doing that, has made me realize that, somehow, it all comes together at the end. I don't have to worry about what style it is, what impression it makes, or if it means anything. I just paint what I want, where I want, and how I want... I don't worry about what I think I should be doing. I think about what I want to be doing.
Right now, what I want is to know what would make me smile? I wonder if I'd be happy if the sun came up?... or if I listened to upbeat music?... or if it started raining harder?
I think that the one thing that would make me smile at this moment is a phone call. Someone who would like to know how I'm doing... I'd just like to know that someone's thinking of me, while I sit here alone at my desk.
Tip of the Day: When you think of someone, call them and let them know sometimes. They just might be feeling a bit lonely at the moment.
And, as I finish up today's post, Little man texts me to tell me that he just caught a black widow... that made me smile...
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