I told my son that it’s usually in the most unlikely places that beauty will catch you off guard.
Like it will smack you right in the face.
And when that happens, you need to stop and soak in whatever your world is telling you to observe.
It’s important, I tell him.
And then I will more then likely take a picture of whatever it is we are observing because I’m weird…
My husband thinks I’m ridiculous that I take so many pictures of random things. I tell him to “Shush! Never mind! Taking pictures makes me happy plus I’m going to scrapbook them!” Then he laughs maniacally.
You see, I always have these wild intentions on scrapbooking the little filtered squares from my phone but now my new obsessions are art journals. Of course they don’t always come to fruition because there’s never enough time or I just forget. Or I’m lazy. Or printing pictures is a pain in my ass. And then there’s the fact that he also packed 90% of my scrapbook things in totes when he had promised me a “space”….last fall.
Or: all of the above
I wasn’t always a scrapbooker you know. I only dove into scrapbooking because I needed something to do after destroying my spine in 2003. Sports was my life. Yes, would you believe that this girl was actually very athletic? You’re reading a High School Junior Basketball MVP’er’s blog right meow.
I’m practically famous…in my house…on grocery shopping day.
Anyways, you may not know that I see more specialists than your grandma. In fact, I probably hang out with her in waiting rooms. She says you should visit her more often.
Chronic pain is invisible. You can’t see the metal and osteoarthritis and hernations and how my spine is curving far too much to the left and other super long anatomy wordy words that my neurosurgeon and radiologists from the US to London have picked and poked at. I basically hurt every day. That’s it. I don’t complain about it much but sometimes I do wish though that I and all the people who struggled with chronic pain could sport that infamous pain scale on our foreheads to alert you that from 1-10, we are being mauled by a wilder beast.
During those times, please be patient with us.
So I haven’t been on a bike since – probably early 2000’s.
My son is getting so big and it bums every one out when I say “No, I can’t go bungee jumping” or *insert other ridiculous 8 year old activity that would involve lots of anti-inflammatory and boxed wine needed to recover.*
I wanted to ride a bike.
So I stole my mom’s.
It. Was Scary. As. Hell y’all.
As we headed down this bike path along this county road, my eyes caught the way the blue sky hit the tops of the seemingly endless rows upon rows of corn. That beauty pulled me right out of myself and the never ending dribble of brain chatter. The kind of brain chatter that makes makes me painfully aware that I’ve got guts that can twist tighter than a rubber ball when anxiety is creeping in.
And I had to stop.
Only I forgot that I needed to grip BOTH hand brakes and my bike went this way and that way…
…so I just Fred Flinstone-ed it and stopped the damn thing with my feet.
Like a bad ass.
My boys stayed up further along the path shaking their heads and I shook my head back and pointed at the canvas in front of me.
Life’s stop sign.
Life sent me a stop sign and told me to unpack my heavy bag of messy anxiety for a moment, give my tired legs and arms a rest.
Engulf my senses for a little while.
Breathe in. Breath out.
“Did you just take a picture of the cornfield?”
“SHUSH! I’ll scrapbook it”
That day I accomplished something pretty amazing.
I wouldn’t have seen the blues smashed into the the greens if I hadn’t tried.
But it was also wonderful to be actually be a part of my squad instead of just watching them from the sidelines and to feel fast, wild, and so damn free.
I’m telling you, it’s the little things in life.
Always look for it kid.
And then take a picture of it for your mother xoxo