It perhaps should not come as a surprise that several days after "becoming the tsunami," I'd be at the receiving end of a few of them as well. And of course it happened on a relatively quiet Sunday morning.
I was waiting for 11 AM, when I had planned to listen to a webcast of a choral eucharist service. What to do for an hour? I had a ton of energy, too much for a small project like needlepoint, or reading, or drawing, or coloring in the adult coloring book I was recently given. I have no car, so taking a drive was out. I don't particularly like taking walks unless I have somewhere to go, and I have virtually no money to spend, so some of the all-American pastimes like shopping or going out for coffee were out too. I looked around the room at the tiny (5x7 inch) oil painting I painted a few years ago, and my tiny note cards which I periodically send to friends, and suddenly I had a tantrum. Literally. I started wailing with frustration at the enormous amount of creative life energy I have had all my life, and the miniscule ways I have expressed it. I went stomping around the house I'm staying in (luckily, no one was around) and my next thought was, maybe I'll use this excess energy to bake. Thumbing through a cookbook, I had another tantrum. I will not bake another batch of cookies! I will not even metaphorically put on my little apron and bake a nice batch of cookies like a good little girl. Eventually, I baked date bread, took a walk, and listened to the service, but not without even more layers of frustration at how utterly backwards my life has been, how invisible I have been, and how none of these activities even begin to express who I really am, what I love, what an enormous amount of creative energy I have, and how valuable it is.
Here's the thing. I think that pretty much at birth, I got the message that I didn't -- or shouldn't -- exist. Somewhere deep down, I knew this couldn't be true, and that I was an unusually intelligent, creative, musical, spiritual, loving being, but it was clear that I needed to hide these assets. So I have, quite successfully. I have stayed crouched in a little spinning ball, occasionally stretching out to full size to try living, then returning to fetal position again. I believed the people who said I had done nothing worthwhile with my life; and then believed them again when I did things I found worthwhile and was ignored, unpaid or critiqued. "Nearly invisible" has been my default setting. It's been like pouring a tsunami through a dripping kitchen faucet.
This "sea-swell" seems to have broken something down in me. I am done, done with tiny. If I paint again, no more miniatures; the energy of my creativity is bigger than life. I'll do a self-portrait eight feet tall, or a sculpture 20 ft. tall. I've had it with singing along with webcasts; if I sing, it will be to be heard. When I speak, may it be to large audiences. I will keep writing this blog, but may it be with the intention of being widely read and respected. And heck, on days when I don't feel like creating, perhaps someone will paint a John Singer Sargent-style painting of me, or write about me, or cook for me. Maybe I'll become visible in ways I never thought possible.
Perhaps this isn't so much a re-birth, as the completion of the process that only partially began 62 years ago. Finally, I will really be in the world. Ultimately, it isn't about becoming visible to others so much as finally knowing within myself that I do exist, that I am meant to be here and fully express myself, and that a half-life is too much like death to be worth living any more.
