Blue Door

Actually, the door is gypsy teal, but "blue door" sounded better for a title. The fact that our front door has been black ever since we bought our house in 2009 is an indication of nothing really...perhaps our laziness but nothing else.

Nonetheless, the door is gypsy teal now, and the difference it made in the look of our house was quite remarkable. We painted the door after we had hardwood floors installed this weekend. Funny how doing one little improvement makes you want to do all the improvements. All at once. This motivation is sure to end. 

With the door now gypsy teal, the front porch needs a new coat of white paint...and the shutters need painting. And the whole house could use pressure-washing. Funny how one little improvement makes all the other flaws stand out. 

Over the last two years, I worked on earning my Masters degree in Higher Education Administration. In December of 2016, I finished. Basically, my life has a blue front door now. And as with the improvements to the house, I am now looking at all the flaws that I need to work on personally. 

Self-doubt is a long-time companion of mine. From time to time, she visits to remind me of those flaws, to remind me that I'm not worthy somehow. But this little swing into "who am I" and "what now" feels a little different than those in my past. It feels different because I'm different. I'm a more confident version of myself. I still care what others think but not nearly as much as before. I'm no longer defined by it. 

This time I'm able to tell myself that I am enough and that where I am in life is enough. Sure, I do have a new, blue front door, but a new door doesn't mean I need to know what my next improvement project is going to be. After all, so much of our life is spent waiting, spent looking at or to the next thing, that we sometimes seem to miss what is sitting right in front of us. 

The lovely. The mundane. The beautifully boring and deliciously ordinary. The life that needs living in our own way that isn't anyone else's way, that is perfectly imperfect and bumpy and gorgeous and awful, all at once. 

As of today, I have a blue front door. I also have a Masters Degree. But I have much more to offer the world than my house or my job. I will live and love the here and now. The future will wait and so will flaws and improvements and the crap that causes self-doubt. Blue doors are lovely but so am I.

Nothing To Say

It's been about a year. A wonderful, dream-at-least-partially-coming-true year since a friend from college asked me to submit a couple of trial columns to run in my local newspaper. I remember bouncing around the room with excitement after reading her email, squealing the news to my husband at the top of my lungs, galloping across the house and traumatizing my cats in the process as they fled under every available surface seeking cover from the insane, giant cat lady. Then I remember the immediate crash, the paralyzing fear that coursed through my veins when the implications sank in, the implications of submitting something of my own creation from my own crazy brain and for public consumption, nonetheless, to an actual newspaper editor who would actually critique my work. Sending the first column very nearly made me puke.

After about a month of being a "guest columnist," my byline was changed to "columnist." I couldn't believe my good fortune, and the columns were such a pleasure to write! It seemed that I had endless ideas for new articles, and for those first couple of months, I hardly ever struggled with a topic. Then self-doubt came a-calling. I began to fear that I would run out of things to say. How could I possibly maintain new and refreshing topics for a weekly column? How could I, boring nerd-girl from boring-ville with no real story to tell, keep coming up with interesting and thought-provoking things to say? And more importantly, why would anyone want to read what I had to write?

Self-doubt's a bitch.

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Thankfully, I haven't run out of things to say yet. Although, I will sit at my computer sometimes on Sunday nights (I send my columns then so they'll be there for the editor on Monday morning) and think "Oh, my God" I have absolutely nothing to say. I'll sit for hours just staring. I'll surf the web, grasping for inspiration. I'll walk around. I'll eat a snack. I'll beg my husband for ideas. I'll do anything and everything just to hatch some inspiration. And somehow, magically we'll say because I don't know how the hell else it works, I always seem to land on something, sometimes just a partially formed thought that I have to hammer out and slave over to transform into a 600-word column befitting for anyone to actually read. No idea where this stuff comes from, but I can always seem to pull something out of my butt at the very last minute....let's hope that continues, because my column is my therapy, my joy, my real-world connection to what I want to do with my life. I would hate for my creativity to run dry and to lose it over something stupid like "writer's block."

Today self-doubt came for another visit, seems she sort of likes it around here...probably because I buy into her tricks so easily. This time she visited the blog. She taunted me, teased me, made me think that I had nothing else to say or share with my readers. She led me to believe that what I wrote wasn't as interesting or as engrossing as other bloggers and had me scrambling for my purpose and footing in bloggyland. Then I decided to draw inspiration from the bitch herself, to write about how I hate her and how I wish I could stamp away feelings of inadequacy and doubt. A little self-doubt is okay I guess; it can even inspire. The trick is to never let that doubt consume or define you. Just so me and self-doubt are clear, I decided I'd write an open letter to her, just letting her know how I feel about her "nothing to say" theory.

Dear Self-Doubt,

You obviously don't know me very well, so allow me to introduce you to me. I'm a talker. I always seem to have something to say, some stray thought running through my brain...having nothing to say doesn't really register on my radar. I even get on people's nerves I talk so much sometimes, but that's okay because that's who I am. 

I'm also an observer. I watch and then I write about what I watched. I find inspiration in the tiniest of places and run with it. I'll write about my observations and experiences, and if ever I find those observations or experiences lacking, I'll let my imagination take over and write a tall tale about origami birds flying in a seer-sucker sky. 

I won't run out of things to say, and I will continue to write until I die, because it's what I love to do and it's who I am...in spite of everything and in spite of you.

Bite me.

Sincerely,
Katie 

"And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." - Sylvia Plath