Across our nearly-eleven years with the Foreign Service, my husband and I have lived in many different abodes. My favorite thing about our current place is the sunroom that my sweet husband encouraged me to make a writing/painting studio. On those days when working from home feels lonely, or I strike a creative roadblock, it’s a relief to gaze outside for a refreshing glimpse of tree and sky.
It’s also made me a bit of a birdwatcher. The species I see aren’t exotic–robins, mockingbirds, sparrows, blue jays, the occasional cardinal or oriole. But their behavior is intriguing. And as spring tips into summer, and all that April “flirting” resolves into June nests, I’ve seen an interesting pattern.
Those sweet little songbirds are freakin’ ferocious in defending their eggs.
All will be serene, the only movement a crow sauntering beneath a holly tree. A sudden burst of movement and two mockingbirds are tearing after that crow, who’s fleeing fast as wings can beat.
What’s truly amazing is how often the pursuing birds are pipsqueaks compared to the aggressor. Mockingbirds chase crows, tiny sparrows run off beefy robins, blue jays dive-bomb people and dogs.
It never seems to occur to those wee birds that they might not win. That the opponent could be too big. That they could wind up hurt.
I don’t think it’s any secret that I don’t get out much. Working from home–something I was doing even before COVID made it cool ubiquitous–tends to have that effect. I mean, my bi-monthly trips to the art supply store are big adventures these days.
Maybe it’s this home-bound lifestyle that’s made my recent human interactions stand out so vividly. But of late, I’ve noticed a pattern.
Last week, I forayed out from my Fortress of Write-itude to run a few errands. I was rambling about for maybe a total of four hours. And in that short space, I had three people make comments on my kindness.
First at the grocery store: It was the customer ahead of me in the check-out lane. She wasn’t even taking an especially long time. And all I was doing was not scowling in impatience. We weren’t even talking. But suddenly, she spoke up. “You’re so patient,” she said. “I need to learn from you.”
Huh?
Then at the dry cleaner: I went to pick up some sweaters and suits I was waaaaaay overdue on getting washed. As I was paying, I made idle chatter. “I’m excited,” I said. “These needed to be cleaned so badly!”
The guy gave me a very direct look. “You’re easy to please. Most people who come in here are miserable.”
Last spring, when COVID really came centerstage across the world, life as we knew it imploded. Then imploded again. And again.
And it doesn’t seem to be done yet.
But in the midst of global and national upheaval, I think there’s still value in personal introspection. Of taking the past year and myself in review as 2021 unfolds. Because if there’s anything the enforced slowness of COVID has given me, it’s time for self-investigation.
So as an artist/writer/reader, here are a few things 2020 taught me.
It seemed like such a good idea back when I signed up in January 2020. Back when I was shiny and dumb (to steal a line from John Mulaney). I like to read, I thought. I’m goal-oriented—I love checking things off a list. This’ll be fun.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
For those unfamiliar, the GoodReads Reading Challenge goes like this: you set a goal of how many books you’d like to read that year, then chart your progress. GoodReads monitors your headway, telling you if you’re on-track to reach your goal. Simple, right?
Here’s the problem. Reading is one of the only things I do just for me, simply because I want to (that and surfing). The rest of my life is pretty regimented. I think it goes with the turf of being a freelancer–if I don’t keep a leash on my time management, nobody else will.
By assigning myself a number of books to read within a set period of time, I converted that last bastion of relaxation into another benchmark. Don’t get me wrong: one excellent outcome was that I read a lot more books, most by authors new to me. I loved some of them.
But I also found myself powering through books I wasn’t enjoying because I’d invested too many hours to start something new. Choosing books based on length rather than interest. Shorting myself on sleep and stressing about hitting my goal–a totally unnecessary stress in year already chock-a-block with unavoidable ones.
I am not necessarily trying to discourage anyone else from taking on a GoodReads challenge. If you’re not a goal-psycho like myself, maybe you can enjoy the benefits and let go when it stops being fun.
But here’s what I learned: it’s worth pausing to consider whether it’s wise to twist a thing you love into an obligation.
No. 2: Speed Painting
2020 was the year of watercoloring. From January to May, I painted like a fiend to prepare for my art show in Rockville, MD (which, of course, was cancelled/is still delayed due to COVID). Then in the later half of the year, I had four large-scale projects to finish in the brief period of 7 weeks. Being at the beginning of my artist career, this goal was a Goliath to my David. I was sure I couldn’t cover that much canvas that quickly.
Today, I found myself in a molasses-slow line at my local DC post office. In trying to while away the what-felt-like-hours, the women waiting ahead of me got to chatting.
Somehow, the conversation wound its way to a stereotype claiming that Texas women are obsessively attached to their cosmetics (even to the point of slathering on lipstick pre-Cesarean section).
Being a proud Texas gal myself and friends with many a Texan-ess who rocks the bare face, I was about to pipe up and offer some schooling:
“It’s a big state, y’all–we Texans aren’t all created equal! And where did this stupid stereotype even come from?!”
Fortunately, I gave the crowd one last gander… and realized I was the only one of six women wearing makeup. Because how long does it take to swipe on some mascara before you walk out the door?
Yep–Great strides were made today toward busting up clichés.
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This week at the Consulate, one of the local Chinese staff complimented my handwriting. She said it was beautiful, then added (incredibly sweetly): “Just like you!”
I’m not sure such glowing praise was warranted, but it led to my friend sharing with me one of China’s ancient idioms:
Zì rú qí rén.
Or, in its more stunning native script:
Translation? “The character is like the person.”
In other words: Someone’s writing, the physical style of their words, is a reflection of the author’s being. Beautiful writing evidences a beautiful psyche; strained writing is the exterior reflection of a tormented interior. Continue reading “Calligraphy & Character”→
Ebb & Flow 