Every once in awhile, I get the urge to do something totally crazy. Maybe it’s putting chocolate frosting on a plain waffle with cream cheese or wishing I could fingerpaint in winter. Today I had that exact “want” feeling.
To do something creative, something different, something more. Incidentally, the one thing I so desperately felt I had to do, was fingerpaint. The thought struck me as strange as I sat down to work out a few things, such as why I wanted to finger-paint and whether I really had any water-soluble paints lying about. ^_^
Why? Because it was fun. Or at least it was supposed to be. Bright colors, big blank pages, no one to interrupt and a nice, old T-shirt, so fussing about an outfit isn’t necessary. I puzzled through this in a matter of minutes and came the conclusion that I didn’t have any fingerpaints of any sort lying around. So my itching fingers had to switch to something else, namely, this blog.
Painting is often called a tribal way of expression, because when you’re not creating a specific object, when you let your imagination go…what is inside, often does come out and sometimes it can scare you. I remember painting lots of rainbows…and rocks, in my younger years. They were always fond memories and of course, there was several special memories that revolved around it. Granted I haven’t painted a lot of masterpieces, unless you count my seven-color striped rock that has survived severeal years as a doorstop, still, the lure to colorfully create something has tugged at me for awhile.
The main one that struck me was happiness. Whenever I was happily daubling colors about, I was generally happy. My family says they can always tell what sort of mood I’m in, depending on whether I’m doing one of two things. If I’m thinking, I’m writing or typing and if I’m happy…I’m humming.
It’s practically subconcious now, but when I sat down to spend a few precious minutes on random puzzling, I realized how many things I’ve been cramming into my life in persuit of that same bit of happiness. Last night, I stressed over a paper due this morning. I stressed over it for hours and didn’t change anything in the end, but one line. I woke up this morning with a near headache, from something I should have just put in God’s hands and left it, when I had done my best. Funny, isn’t it? How sometimes we spend so much time on the things that don’t matter and so little on the ones that do?
That was the only forehead-smacking revelation that landed in my lap today and I realized that in spite of everything I’ve been doing, all that I’ve been keeping up with, I’ve been making the time to do the things I love the most. Writing, for one, last night when I was stuck, two new short pieces came out, one light, one dark. (I’ll post the “darker” one later and save the light one for the Friday Fiction @ Fiction Fusion tomorrow). I stress too much, yes, but I’ve sort of figured out why. I’m chasing happiness. But it’s been chasing me…while I’ve been running away from it with all my technical reasons.
Whether that makes sense or not. I’d like to finger-paint this weekend. To try something new and random. Sounds like fun.
