I catch a view of my hand, and stop breathing for just a second. I breathe in again, this time without fear or shock. I'm going to have to get to know these new hands of mine.
They are no longer the smooth, tanned, taut, buttery canvasas that used to wrap freely around the steering wheel of my 71 VW squareback. The wrinkles and loosening of the skin show that I am growing. I am aging. I will be 35 this year. I know that is not old. I am a mother. I am a wife. A social worker. A woman. Dare I say...an artist? eek! No! I am still not ready to affix that label on myself. The lines and new spots on my hands map out a journey of my life. A fantastic and complicated journey, yet one that is always changing. Because...life...is always changing. With each new line, life doodles on my skin...I stand, observing the new work of art. A crisscross of patterns. I want to be critical because I don't like the composition initally. I quickly understand that won't help, as there are no corrections in these lines...they are done with sharpies-not pencil. So, I look for the story-the meaning-behind the artwork. I reflect.
I'm still reflecting. I still don't love the lines, but we are friends now. The lines are a growing family. I'm beginning to let go...to understand that life is an ongoing process of releasing and embracing. Again and again, over and over. Motherhood is bringing this into focus for me, in a way I have never experienced before. Just when I get used to myself and the regular-ness of everyday life, life will teach me that I don't really know the depth of my being- of our being- and offers me yet another opportunity to go deeper into my life, values, relationships, and the nitty-gritty of who I am underneath this canvas. I'm almost certain that with time, I will see the masterpiece. But that will take a well-trained eye.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
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