In the past two weeks I’ve stumbled across a few things I’d been missing for a long time… So long I’d actually stopped looking for them. I’m taking it as a good omen.

This week it was three silver rings — not valuable really, but sentimental. They went missing a year ago when I was home for Christmas. I turned the house upside down before I left and so did my mom, but they were nowhere to be found. I missed them for months, especially the irreplaceable blue labradorite one I found in the Caribbean. But after a year, I’d nearly forgotten about them.

Yesterday I did laundry for the first time since coming home, and when I opened the dryer, heard mysterious clanking and was surprised to discover my three missing rings at the bottom of the dryer. All this time they must have been in the pocket of the bathrobe I wear only when I am home, safely folded away in the closet while I’d been missing them. The only sad part about finding them was that the blue stone had gone missing.

My discovery last week was my knight in shining armor.

Let me explain: many years ago on my first foray to Europe, I bought a box of small novelty “knights” — silver figurines about an inch and a half high. I gave them as gifts to my single girlfriends to remind them of hope and dreams. And for years I kept mine by my bed and when I looked at it, prayed for my future husband. Earlier this year, simultaneous with a new relationship in my life, I suddenly realized I hadn’t seen it for awhile. Oh well, I thought — perhaps I didn’t need him anymore. After all, I had a real live person instead.

On my way home for Christmas I stopped in Seattle and at the last minute decided to go through two boxes I’d left stored in my friend’s garage. As I sorted through trinkets and keepsakes, I happened to open a small box. Inside, among other random things, rested my missing knight. I had to smile. The discovery meant more because the real live person wasn’t in my life anymore. It was like a promise that after all that time, my knight in shining armor was still waiting.

Three silver rings, and a knight in shining armor…

I’m not sure what the lesson is from these serendipitous discoveries. Maybe it’s a reminder that you tend to find things when you stop looking for them. Maybe sometimes it means when you find the things you were looking for, they aren’t the same as you remember them. Or maybe it’s about trusting that even when something seems hopelessly lost, it might really just be somewhere for safekeeping, and it will mean more when you find it again.

This past year of my life in some ways feels like a long detour. It was different than any other, in so many ways. I know I learned things and I hope I carry the best parts of that adventure into my future. But I’m anxious to keep on with my true path and get back to discovering things — including myself. There are some things that have been missing in my life for awhile. And maybe when I’m not looking for them, they will find me again.

“For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Last Saturday my visiting sister and I went in search of serendipitous adventure. The kind that you don’t plan very far ahead, if at all — you simply pick a direction (in this case south) and line up a few criteria (history, tea, theater), and you’re off. (Although adventures of this sort are fairly usual in my universe, I think this might be a rare occurrence for mothers of three.)

The only things we did try to plan for were minimal walking (after 4 days of museums, monuments and metro in DC, my sister’s feet deserved a break) and inclement weather (scattered thunderstorms expected). As per Northeast usual, the weather went entirely the opposite of what we were expecting and wound up sunny and sweltering 90% humidity.

The little town we wound up in was 20% historic buildings and 80% antique stores… I like wandering these shops but rarely find anything that strikes my fancy or fits my budget.

In our last 15 minutes I walked into a store mostly for the air conditioning, and spotted on a table of discounted dusty books, a treasure. It was probably the particular shade of porcelain/ocean/cerulean blue that caught my attention, as it is my favorite of all the blues. But on closer inspection it was even more perfect – hand-tooled gold leaf on the cover, front and back, and most intriguing of all, it opened as an unusual accordian of thick, dark gray pages.

The price penciled on the tag was a mere $7.50… I couldn’t believe my fortune. Nevermind I didn’t know quite what it was or how I would use it. It was only after I got it home and looked at the receipt that I saw “flowerpress journal”. How lovely. But it wouldn’t have mattered. All I know is that it was already perfect for me. The perfect blue treasure.

For now it is empty, gracing a shelf. But someday, just as serendipitously as it came to me, I’ll stumble upon what it should hold.

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so.” – Mary Jean Iron

Having my own office is still sort of a novelty. Over my last few years of mobility I got used to working out of coffee shops and my laptop bag… and strangely, some afternoons I still find myself needing a hubbub of conversation in my surroundings to be able to focus. Most days, however, I’m ecstatically happy in the morning to walk down to my kitchen, make a real breakfast and my own cup of coffee, and commute one flight of stairs to my office with my hand-me-down desk and my new chair and an old-fashioned window that catches the morning light just so…

During this uncharacteristically warm week of April I’ve had the window sash thrown up to catch the breeze, catching the sounds of the neighborhood as well… There’s the little girl calling goodbye to her daddy every morning, dog-walkers conversing on the corner, the postman making his rounds, and lest you think it’s all too idyllic, there’s also the deafening trash truck, the annoying yippy dog down the block, the regular sirens from the firehouse one street over, and of course the choppers. Always the choppers – sometimes at pane-rattling decibels. I like to tell myself it’s the president on his way home, but more likely it’s an ordinary hospital chopper.

I look forward to meetings because they’re a change of pace and scene, and a chance to mingle with the cubicle and commuter crowd – and a reminder of how glad I am that’s not my life. Some days when I’m feeling melancholy about my choice, I make myself leave the house and metro to a downtown Starbucks just for that perspective.

The best part of my job is definitely the freedom. But I’ve also found freedom to be hard-earned and elusive. I can run my own schedule but I can also lose my shirt. And if I’m sick or tired or just need a mental health day, there’s no one else to pick up the slack and make the deadlines. There’s no sales department or accounting department or anyone else to blame things on… there’s just me. Above all I miss collaboration – such a necessary part of creativity – and have to reach out for unique ways to find it.

That’s why I’m thankful to live in a city, steps away from activity, thankful for the people I live with who fill back up my house every evening, and most of all, thankful that I just so happen to live with another freelancer who keeps my office from being lonely and my days from being too quiet.

Here’s to the home office.

Besides the noble art of getting things done, there is a nobler art of leaving things undone. The wisdom of life consists in the elimination of nonessentials. – Lin Yutang

Lately I’ve been slightly obsessed with organizing photos. Maybe it’s spring… maybe it’s the new iPhoto… maybe I’ve just found a constructive new way to procrastinate. Whatever the case, grouping memories into nice tidy little “events” feels sort of like I’m organizing my life… or my past lives. It’s very satisfying.

Along with my digital closet-cleaning, I’m feeling a rebirth of possibility in the air. Like maybe I actually can do some of the things I’ve let apathy talk me out of in the last year. Like perhaps I can commit to some goals (two scary words) and more than that, I might actually be able to accomplish them:

Like this blog. In my past lives I used to post on Tuesdays — why not do that again? So henceforth on most if not every Tuesday, I am committing to take the time to pull at least one of my random thoughts on life/creativity/beauty and put it here in this space. For myself, more than anyone else.

Like painting. I don’t even know how many years it’s been, but the other day I finally picked up a paintbrush and tentatively knocked out a portrait… and it wasn’t half bad. This is a scarier place to commit, but if I don’t, I have the distinct feeling that I will be very sorry. So I’m committing to employ my paintbrushes at least once a month – preferably while painting in some lovely, peaceful setting and capturing something beautiful.

Like running. There’s two times in my life I’ve actually run consistently – once for a coach and once for coping. Nothing else has been enough motivation. But it’s currently the perfect running weather, and I’m finally going to set an actual goal I can’t get out of, and commit to running my first 5k in May.

I guess spring is as good a time as any to set goals… Well past overly optimistic January, with most of the year still left to meet your commitments. Kind of like a Tuesday.

Meanwhile, back to today. I have a very long list of loose ends of projects and an even longer list of potential new ones… I’m organizing my life on paper and breathing in spring and telling myself it is actually possible…

“The achievement of your goal is assured the moment you commit yourself to it.” – Mack R. Douglas

Welcome to my new creative space.

It belongs to my starting-over-life. Fresh beginnings on new shores with very few belongings, but with all the riches of my experiences in tow. Somewhere between Pacific mountains, Atlantic oceans and European skies, I realized the color blue connects my worlds.

Blue is the color of everything familiar… blue sea, blue sky, blue jeans, blue eyes… Blue is the color of comfort… the color of home… the color of me.

Coloring takes me back to the beginning of happiness… my childhood. I can smell the crayons and feel the wax on my fingers… see shades of aquamarine and cornflower and the difference between blue-green and green-blue… Head bent in pure concentration… it’s the same feeling I get today when I’m absorbed in the creation of something.

My coloring blue creations are evidence of where I’ve been and who I am — and a witness to the Creator of both.

“The world needs more of grace and beauty…”