Believe it or not, I’ve taken up a new hobby. It’s something I have always wanted to do… and as I reasoned out to Mark, it could prove to be therapeutic.
I’ve been beading and making jewelry. Necklaces to be specific. Statement necklaces to be more precise and explicit. I am a fan of the like and I own several of them myself. But to be able to make some for myself…out of my own bare hands… well, that actually makes more of a statement.
My sister gives me this weird look as she observes me all throughout the weekend. I guess she’s probably wondering how the heck I can tolerate just sitting on my bed staring into the different colored beads and stones. Little does she know that my therapeutic activity has actually given birth to several thoughts I have been pondering on in the pretense of stringing one bead after another.
First and foremost, I have discovered that I have become a worrier. Yes, me…the girl who claims to love not having to conform…worries. Ew. But there you have it. And to much of my dismay, I have further discovered that even in my worrying, I am analytical and I string things together effortlessly.
I worry all the time about the string. I question myself over and over…in fact every time I start on a new piece, I wonder if the string I am using will be strong enough to hold everything together. Would a wire be safer? Something hard and much less easy to bend? If I wear this necklace in public, the worst horror imaginable would be that the string and the lock would give out and the whole thing will fall into pieces all over the place…And in a way, this is parallel to me worrying about my relationships. With my family, as I have missed out on most familial occasions and obligations for the last three years. Are my ties with my sisters and my mother less tight because of the birthday celebrations and countless Sunday lunches I have missed? I worry for me and Mark. Three years and yet when we have our fights they are still as intense as before. Is this a sign of us truly being passionate for each other? Or does this mean our clashes will sooner or later get the best of us? I worry about my friendships. My “office” friends are the best bunch I could ask for. But recently, I have been going through the same shit I went through last year when I realized I was completely miserable with my job (this is an entirely different story though, and will just be mentioned in passing). And now as I ponder and contemplate on what I really want to do with my life, I have this absurd idea that I should distance myself from them to keep my decisions as objective and practical as possible… Should I be tougher like a wire? Or remain more fluid and flexible, patient and forgiving, compassionate and loving, as a string? To wear this in public, to lay out the cards on the table, to share my bothering thought of anxiousness, is exactly the same horror as the fiasco of a rain of beads and stones and pearls down the front of my shirt. Am I just scared of losing them? Or am I just scared of admitting they’ve already lost me a long time ago?
I worry about the stones I am using. The beads. Their shape. Their color. The pendants, if any, attached to them. Do they fit together? Do they look good? Do they take form into the feeling, the intensity, the creativity I am or I should be allowing myself to express? The same way I worry about my appearance. I am vain, yes. But it is more than that. When my eyes are all swelled up from crying from the previous night, the right concealer, the right highlighter, is necessary to show up to work the next day seeming perfectly fine. When people walk by my desk and say hi, I plaster a smile to my face even when I am utterly bored and feeling sullen and surly. When I get a call from a colleague, I have to sound chirpy about the non-work related stuff. We are friends after all. But if I am so together on the outside, yet so broken up on the inside, how will I ever make everything fit together? How does anyone make anything fit together? Is it all about the stone’s color? The concealer’s shade? There’s this tiny voice inside me saying no… they do help on keeping things looking put together, but they’re transient solutions to a much more permanent concern: my happiness. How can I make sure that the life I live takes form into the feeling, the intensity, the creativity I deserve to be allowing myself to express?
And finally, I worry about this one dreadful question: Will anyone aside from myself like the necklace I am making? I had asked Mark this question even before I started making my first piece. And his answer was: We can’t be sure. But so what? Do this for you. If you know this makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.
I have called Mark selfish and bratty and self centered and self absorbed during our worst arguments. But for someone so selfish and bratty and self centered and self absorbed, he hits the point at the exact place and at the right time. And I adore him for loving me enough to tell me to not give a damn about what others think and live my life the way I want to live it.
That itself is reassuring…and yeah, therapeutic.
But it doesn’t mean I have stopped asking the questions and it certainly doesn’t mean I have stopped worrying.
Like a jeweler’s journey to his masterpiece, my little therapy’s success will most likely take time to occur. We’re talking about months, hell, maybe even years… But I am looking forward to the day when I can take a step back from all the beads and strings and clasps and stones…take a step back from all the worries, questions, tears, and pain…and marvel at the life I have created and be able to say this to myself: The strings are tight enough, the stones match each other, the whole thing is a beauty and it will make everyone smile when they see it…when they see you… you finally got it right.
3/2/09 – EPR.
I’ve been beading and making jewelry. Necklaces to be specific. Statement necklaces to be more precise and explicit. I am a fan of the like and I own several of them myself. But to be able to make some for myself…out of my own bare hands… well, that actually makes more of a statement.
My sister gives me this weird look as she observes me all throughout the weekend. I guess she’s probably wondering how the heck I can tolerate just sitting on my bed staring into the different colored beads and stones. Little does she know that my therapeutic activity has actually given birth to several thoughts I have been pondering on in the pretense of stringing one bead after another.
First and foremost, I have discovered that I have become a worrier. Yes, me…the girl who claims to love not having to conform…worries. Ew. But there you have it. And to much of my dismay, I have further discovered that even in my worrying, I am analytical and I string things together effortlessly.
I worry all the time about the string. I question myself over and over…in fact every time I start on a new piece, I wonder if the string I am using will be strong enough to hold everything together. Would a wire be safer? Something hard and much less easy to bend? If I wear this necklace in public, the worst horror imaginable would be that the string and the lock would give out and the whole thing will fall into pieces all over the place…And in a way, this is parallel to me worrying about my relationships. With my family, as I have missed out on most familial occasions and obligations for the last three years. Are my ties with my sisters and my mother less tight because of the birthday celebrations and countless Sunday lunches I have missed? I worry for me and Mark. Three years and yet when we have our fights they are still as intense as before. Is this a sign of us truly being passionate for each other? Or does this mean our clashes will sooner or later get the best of us? I worry about my friendships. My “office” friends are the best bunch I could ask for. But recently, I have been going through the same shit I went through last year when I realized I was completely miserable with my job (this is an entirely different story though, and will just be mentioned in passing). And now as I ponder and contemplate on what I really want to do with my life, I have this absurd idea that I should distance myself from them to keep my decisions as objective and practical as possible… Should I be tougher like a wire? Or remain more fluid and flexible, patient and forgiving, compassionate and loving, as a string? To wear this in public, to lay out the cards on the table, to share my bothering thought of anxiousness, is exactly the same horror as the fiasco of a rain of beads and stones and pearls down the front of my shirt. Am I just scared of losing them? Or am I just scared of admitting they’ve already lost me a long time ago?
I worry about the stones I am using. The beads. Their shape. Their color. The pendants, if any, attached to them. Do they fit together? Do they look good? Do they take form into the feeling, the intensity, the creativity I am or I should be allowing myself to express? The same way I worry about my appearance. I am vain, yes. But it is more than that. When my eyes are all swelled up from crying from the previous night, the right concealer, the right highlighter, is necessary to show up to work the next day seeming perfectly fine. When people walk by my desk and say hi, I plaster a smile to my face even when I am utterly bored and feeling sullen and surly. When I get a call from a colleague, I have to sound chirpy about the non-work related stuff. We are friends after all. But if I am so together on the outside, yet so broken up on the inside, how will I ever make everything fit together? How does anyone make anything fit together? Is it all about the stone’s color? The concealer’s shade? There’s this tiny voice inside me saying no… they do help on keeping things looking put together, but they’re transient solutions to a much more permanent concern: my happiness. How can I make sure that the life I live takes form into the feeling, the intensity, the creativity I deserve to be allowing myself to express?
And finally, I worry about this one dreadful question: Will anyone aside from myself like the necklace I am making? I had asked Mark this question even before I started making my first piece. And his answer was: We can’t be sure. But so what? Do this for you. If you know this makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.
I have called Mark selfish and bratty and self centered and self absorbed during our worst arguments. But for someone so selfish and bratty and self centered and self absorbed, he hits the point at the exact place and at the right time. And I adore him for loving me enough to tell me to not give a damn about what others think and live my life the way I want to live it.
That itself is reassuring…and yeah, therapeutic.
But it doesn’t mean I have stopped asking the questions and it certainly doesn’t mean I have stopped worrying.
Like a jeweler’s journey to his masterpiece, my little therapy’s success will most likely take time to occur. We’re talking about months, hell, maybe even years… But I am looking forward to the day when I can take a step back from all the beads and strings and clasps and stones…take a step back from all the worries, questions, tears, and pain…and marvel at the life I have created and be able to say this to myself: The strings are tight enough, the stones match each other, the whole thing is a beauty and it will make everyone smile when they see it…when they see you… you finally got it right.
3/2/09 – EPR.
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