"there is freedom in being a writer and writing. it is fulfilling your function. I used to think freedom meant doing whatever you want. it means knowing who you are, what you are supposed to be doing on this earth, and then simply doing it."
- Natalie Goldberg, Writing down the bones
"in Japan there is an ancient tradition, called haibun, of writing journals combined with poetry and illustrations. sometimes, the pictures elicit the stories; sometimes it is the other way around. soon the stories annotating your photos create "moments of enlightened awareness". after a while you begin to have those moments more often.
the more you write it, the more you develop that mindset, and then you start seeing things to pay attention to around you that you might otherwise have missed."
- Henriette Anne Klauser on photojournalism, Put your heart on paper
Aug 15, 2007 in daily photos, just thinking, momster in Paris, panasonic lumix DMC-LX2 12 Comments Share "I felt proud. I was proud that my right to vote for president was legitimate, something some might want to object but will never be able to take away from me. I was proud to be Korean, to be French, to just be. to voice my opinion. for me, for my family. and for those who couldn't voice their own."
some days even though the absence of inspiration and new ideas oppresses me with a heavy sense of guilt, I want to believe that being creative doesn't necessarily involve making a thing that hangs in a place. that it is really my soul expressing itself. a chance to make a joyous choice, and create beauty from life's little, ordinary things.
some days I want to believe that turning the daffodils toward the sun, arranging the boys' artwork, some Polaroid photos and articles ripped from the pages of House Beautiful on my refrigerator's door, matching all the socks in the sock drawer and practicing scales on my piano every morning are the recharging, balancing part of my work.
some days my son's eyebrows tell a story, moving up and down and raising with excitement every time he speaks. and it's so beautiful. I just don't feel like writing about my life. I want to live it. and I want to believe that it's okay, too.
pausing a moment in my life to cook and serve meals for sixty homeless people. rain pouring steadily outside while all that is good and gentle in heart seemed to bloom into every face in the large, functional kitchen. filling one more plate, filling one more soul. for it is true what they say. the smallest, homeliest tasks get beautified if loving hands do them. and the more you give, the more you receive.
but what I didn't expect. that I would leave with oily hair, sticky shoes and empty hands. yet with a heart overflowing with love, selfless and indescribably easy. shaping my worldview, defining empathy. love that grows deep inside. love that transcends circumstances. love that heals.
that a hug is never wasted.
that you should not try to mold your children into something they are not or that is more convenient for you.
that I must learn to handle my own anger as I respond to my sons.
to check tire pressure every month.
that sometimes your children don't fulfill the expectations you have for your life, heal your wounds, nor undo the damage done to you by the people who were supposed to love and protect you. but the truth is that they probably are the best thing that ever happened to you.
to say I'm sorry.
that you cannot build a strong, positive self-esteem on unspoken guilt, shame and what others might think of you.
that you can always learn from the experiences of others. and from your mother's mistakes.
I take a long walk in the city with my Polaroid cameras, I get up early to think. I sit at my piano or at the children's section of the local library. I set up my sons' favorite toys while they are at school so we can immediately play together. I knit or buy something for someone I care about.
and despite the doubt, confusion and frustration of the blank page, I realize the value of each moment. enabling me to grow, to be honest, to think creatively about how best to use these moments of discouragement. to make my own rules without feeling guilty about it, and reconnect with my true self.
I am still a normal girl with insecurities, hairy arms and occasional bouts with hemorrhoids. I am afraid of butterflies and wear only white socks. I love being a mom, except when I have to take my sons with me to the grocery store or mention Santa's cell phone number in March. and on most days, I'd rather do some coloring than my writing practice.
it's been two years now since I started this blog, and it hasn't always been easy. yet I hope that this little place of mine has reminded you to delight in the little things, find beauty in your every day life. that it has comforted and made you laugh at times, and encouraged you to keep writing and creating through the most boring, stressful and confusing circumstances.
my mentor recently told me that God takes pleasure and great joy when I am most being myself, when I fully embrace all that I am. and I realized that it's something I'm often incapable of. so thank you. thank you for calling me a good mother every time I mistake my failures, guilt and fears for what I am. thank you for calling me a writer and help me accept this fact. thank you for delivering compounded quantities of support and kindness every day. for allowing me to connect to your lives. and for calling me your friend.
we walked about 10 miles through fields and little villages in Kircheim, Germany. my teacher, my counselor. the clouded sky gently dappling the sun across our faces. beautiful old houses and scanty sidewalks. and big dogs barking at us.
he didn't even knock. he opened the door, climbed up the stairs and sat on the bench of the pipe organ as if he were home. and now that I think of it, I believe he really was.
his hands holding mine as we prayed in silence. I don't know what to do with my life. I don't know what to do anymore.
"I see a child sitting on the beach, happily toiling the day away building sandcastles and playing with little rocks. day after day, after day. but what this child really wants is to sail across the ocean. she's waited for a very long time. sad, and confused. but she's ready now to leave the safe shores and venture into the wide expanse of the sea. all she needs to do is to trust. and let go. her fears, all the questions. but mostly her fears."
"there's nothing to be afraid of, Irene" his voice echoed off the stone walls of the small church, "believe it or not, you're prepared for this. and remember. you are not alone."
Sean is laughing so infectiously that I can't help smiling. and the amount of joy in his eyes now could supply the neighborhood. Will likes to tickle my feet in the morning. he also says that I'm so cool. snow is expected. I fall asleep with the light on. I like to believe that it reminds my husband that he's loved and missed when he comes home late from work.
there are moments in a person's life, scarce and frail, when you realize how good and pleasant life is when you slow down and delight in the little things that occasionally sprinkle your day with beauty and inspiration. when you don't strive to live up to your own expectations. when you stroke your child's hair. and learn how to really love him. when everything is extraordinarily normal.
