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Uniquely Painting Our Lives "Mom, you're so weird." My teenage daughter glanced around the hotel pool to see who might have been watching. "What? Can't I have a little fun?" Over my swimsuit, I buttoned the shorts I'd just shimmied into, adding an exaggerated extra wriggle for the video camera. We were on the second leg of a summer vacation, and my husband had to go back after the first week. Wouldn't he enjoy a two-second "show" just for him when he watched the movies back at home? As I gathered our things to leave the pool area, my daughter rolled her eyes and shut off the camera. At thirteen, she is outgoing and confident, but like most teens, she worries about others' opinions now and then. In truth, we all do. But several years ago, I decided letting concern over what others think isn’t worth the effort. Who wants to go through life self-censoring? Being yourself is much more fun. Watch a toddler play. She isn't worried that her hair is messy or her socks are rolling down. She's much too busy enjoying life to care.
So why is it that as
we age, we become more self-conscious about who's looking and how they
view us? It's a natural part of lifespan development, of course. Perhaps
a safeguard to keep erratic behavior in check. But for most of us there
comes a point when we realize we don't need to live our lives for
others. It's crucial to behave appropriately to avoid a negative effect
on someone else, but why be self-conscious all the time? As the accompanying picture of my sister zooming down the "big slide" at a local event portrays, you're never too old to have fun -- even if your teenagers try to convince you otherwise. Despite the occasional "you're so weird" comment, I know my children are proud of me for being me. And the concept goes much deeper than having fun. What about our dreams, or our work? Throughout our vacation, I continued thinking about this. At tourist stops, we browsed the local wares, and I kept coming to the same conclusion: everything looked the same. To be fair, a few pieces of jewelry or pottery stood out as unique. But for every standout, there were a dozen paint-by-number versions. Some travelers snatched up the bargain-priced souvenirs, but will the items last, and make a lasting impression? Or are they just cheap cookie-cutter tokens that break or are tossed into a drawer, forgotten? Likewise, do we as individuals want to let our unique light shine? Will we go the extra mile, even if it takes hard work and persistence, to follow our passions toward a meaningful life? Or will we simply get in line, painting our existence by the easy-way-out numbers we've learned to believe we should? In our work, in our relationships, and in our dreams, will we follow the herd, another incognito spotted cow heading for the barn? Or will we create lives that standout, that are remembered as meaningful and unique? Like those tourists buying up the bead-by-number jewelry, the world will likely offer a paycheck either way. . . . The choice is ours. Several days later, my daughters found a tourist trap, cookie-cutter bracelet carelessly left at a poolside hotel table. I wondered how many throwaways are similarly left, while keepsake pieces that hold the heart and passion of their maker are packed carefully away in a suitcase, awaiting a special safe place back home.
That weekend, at the
redwoods in northern California, I found more made-by-number crafts.
There, among the sea-like rows of redwood bears turned out as if by
pattern, a more unique piece caught my eye. And later, as I packed my
carefully carved bear cub into a suitcase, I thought about where I'd
place it once at home. Now, in my living room, the cub serves as a
reminder of our fun trip, but more importantly, as a personal nudge to
pursue my passions--despite hard work and concentration--and let my
unique light shine.
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