After all that yellow, I go back to what is still my favourite colour. Blue. The painting isn’t finished yet, but I’ve been reveling and wallowing in all that blue. I’ve been wondering why this colour resonates with me so much? And after some thought and conversation, I think I know….
I assess things. A lot. Most of it is internal assessment. I look at my life and wonder, am I moving forward, am I any closer to things I am striving for, am I doing everything I can, am I a better person, mother, friend than I was a year ago or a month ago, or yesterday? And I do this because I have unending hope that I am actually getting somewhere. I like to believe that real change is possible, that I can actually grow and become the person I was meant to be, and certain things are achievable.
Of course, the cynics are everywhere. No one can really change they say. Everything stays the same. Or gets worse. What you see is what you get. You can’t rely on anyone or anything. Least of all yourself. But I suspect cynicism is just a fancy word for lazy.
Sure, I have days when I don’t want to face any of the shit in my life. I’m taking a day off, doing nothing, and just laying around in my sweats. I am very intentionally having an avoidance day. This is one of those moments when living alone has serious benefits. If I want to waste some time avoiding life, there isn’t anyone around to tell me I should get off my ass.
But reality does usually bite. Hard. Truth is, the avoidance days don’t make me feel any better. Especially because I skipped showering. So not only do I feel bad, I look and smell pretty awful too. I crawl into bed at the end of one of those days grateful that morning is around the corner and I can give it a better shot tomorrow.
So, I end up facing the music, doing the work, or trying my best at it, and hopefully learning a lesson or two. Coming out of it a slightly better, wiser person can be a plus.
What was this about? Oh right, blue. I think blue has become symbolic for me. Of course, all colour has symbolism and meaning and resonates in different ways with different people. But blue for me especially has come to be the way to enter that deeper peaceful place that quiets my mind and settles my spirit. And maybe because I am sullen when I am working through the crap, blue has very simply become the colour for when I am blue.
But it doesn’t take me there and just abandon me. There’s a very real solace in that blue painted space. It’s on my canvas and in my gut. The knots slowly unravel. The mind calms. Clarity returns. And a sense of resolution comes with working it through. The result, however limited, until the next lesson, is peace.
Growth and change and brokenness. Turns out we’re all broken in one way or another. There isn’t any of us who have all our shit together. No one. So at least I can find some comfort in the fact that if I am a broken screw up, I’m not alone.
Since we are all broken, then its how we face the music, or avoid it, that determines whether we flourish in this life, or not. And that flourishing won’t necessarily look like all those superficial societal marks of perfection that are made out to be worth so much more than they are. I want to meet those people who are out of the limelight, going about their life, doing brave things for themselves and for others. And I want to find joy in all my cracks, and theirs.
“Blue on Blue.” I just realized where that came from. It’s a song by Bobby Vinton. From 1963. Groan, so schmaltzy…. And oh, how my mother loved him! Her Polish-American crooner. Gosh, now I can hear the whole thing! If I wake up tomorrow with that old song still in my head, I won’t be impressed!
Here I was thinking the title came to me as a play on Dylan’s “Blonde on Blonde.” Turns out I’m not as deep as I had hoped. But Mom and I are having a great laugh….