Christine and Me.

I didn’t expect to meet Anyone at the party, when I say ‘Anyone’ you know what I mean don’t you? Anyone as in Someone.
It’s not like I really want to meet Anyone… I am feeling pretty cool about being just me, on my ownsome.
There is something very liberating about redefining yourself after a breakup. A clean slate ( alas a little scratched up and chipped in places) to write out what you want and how you want to do it.
That awakening’s arrival is usually heralded by questions
The question of "who am I?" smacked me around a bit.
The answer didn’t come to me in a blinding flash of self realisation, instead it has come in short staccato bursts. A Morse code of hints and whispers.
I am an artist.
I am an artist who is blocked.
For a while there I couldn’t even call myself an artist, I felt like a fraud. How can I be an artist if I don’t do anything.
My creativity has been caged up, caught in an indescribable web of self doubt and nagging insecurities.
Flapping around like a fish without water. I have come to realise that when I am not in contact with my creativity I am lost in this world.
I never took it seriously, those little pictures I drew or the wire sculptures I made. I did however take it for granted and as a result it left me.
My connection to myself ( and that’s what my creativity is) broke.
Like anything taken for granted.
Like a friendship you just expect to be there , yet never putting in the effort of cherishing that person . Not recognising the delicate balance that exists and must be maintained for the continuation of Goodstuff.
Goodstuff is the variety of delicious things that make life worth it.
Goodstuff is what makes you smile, laugh, feel safe, feel love…
Goodstuff is what we have our eye on when we dive headfirst into a relationship.
Goodstuff is not outranked by heartbreak.

Lately my hints and whispers have been coming thick and fast. Acting like an emotional spackle, slapped and pushed into the cracks that have made me feel weak.
Correcting my vision of the world and who I am in it.
I feel like Stephen Kings Christine,
Popping out my own dents and revving my own motor.
I am still a big scaredy pants though, but I just don’t go down Scaredy Pants Lane as much as use to. Shit, I was living on Scaredy Pants Lane.

So, my shout-out for this post goes to all the Goodstuff and it’s tenacious ability never to be outranked by Shittystuff.