I am the daughter of two very energetic, life-loving individuals. My dad loves to hike, be in nature, and adventure with family members. My mom loves to tell stories, remember, meet people, and have fun. As a child, I was surrounded by countless relatives and friends almost at all times--there were essentially loving people everywhere.
I was born a dreamer. I loved to think, make up stories, and wonder. I also became a news junkie early on. I read the paper everyday beginning in third grade. I worried and wondered about the world's problems. At breakfast and dinner my family discussed current events, history, and ideas too. We talked a lot about solving problems. Dad always cautioned that we couldn't talk about problems unless we were going to be apart of the solutions. Mom was always trying to figure out why problems occurred pointing to the multiple rationale for the existence of problems. As I write, I recognize that I am my mother and father's daughter.
Yet, though my parents loved to analyze and know about issues, they loved the active, outdoors life more. Every Sunday we traveled to a local spot of interest in cities and country. We explored museums, nature preserves, mountains, bike trails and more. We picnicked all the time with Water Street bulkies, cold meat, and mom's homemade baked goods. Our small cape home filled with six children and two parents was always a hub of constant activity and energy. In the midst of this, I was often hiding away drawing, writing, reading, dreaming, and watching old movies and tv shows. I loved the life of the mind early on. For me thinking and dreaming was a sport.
My parents wanted me to be active and often encourage me to get outside and play which I mostly followed as I engaged in countless neighborhood games of touch football, kick-the-can, capture-the-flag, and kickball. We also adventured in nearby woods, picked pignuts (hickory nuts), skated on local ponds, sled, rode our bikes, and hiked. Amongst all that activity though, I would find time to do what I loved more which was reading, writing, drawing, and thinking. Almost every night I would take my journal from under my bed and draw my dreams--stories of family life in imaginative settings. After school, I'd spread out on the living room rug and read the paper, thinking about how to solve the problems of the day such as the Vietnam War, drugs, and horrible assassinations that occurred near or at the time. I was intrigued by hippies and yippies as well as space travel. I looked forward to the daily news via The Worcester Telegram and Gazette.
Later in high school, I took art as a major and asked for independent research. And in college, I often sequestered myself in the college Music Room to read, write, draw, and dream as I looked out over the beautiful campus. In my early apres-college apartment, my little basement bedroom became a hub of creativity and now I have several cozy spaces throughout my home to think and dream.
So where is this rambling post going. It's going to the fact that I have to take seriously my need and will to read, write, draw, and think--it's my passion and daily desire. Instead of constantly stealing time for this endeavor, I know have to finally take it seriously and realize this is who I am. Just like food, sleep, and water, I need to do this work. Where it's headed and why I do it is a topic for another post, but now I simply need to acknowledge the need and make it part of my daily schedule.
We all have passions in life. We all have those desires that call us, and those desires we respond to even when there isn't sufficient time, energy, or support--we go there because we know it is who we are and what we are meant to do. I am a writer, thinker, researcher, and illustrator--that is what I am called to be. The next step is to take this more seriously and think deeply about what this means for me and my work. If you have thoughts about this, I invite you to respond. Onward.
