Another Little Film

Indulge me. This one's got a special ending.

The Big Thinking Phase

As of late I’ve been thinking about chapters. (As I’ve gotten older I’ve become opposed to using metaphorical lingo and clichés. I can’t take me seriously when I’m using someone else’s stale, unoriginal words. Oh man, "my journey." Don't get me started!) (Brett and I suddenly realized this weekend that I’m a rather irreverent person. I’m debilitatingly polite… and yet so hateful.)

Anyways the ole Chapters metaphor. Life chapters. Yes. You now how life passes you by and you didn’t even realize anything was happening? For the sake of this post I’ll let each life stage or main event be called a chapter even though I prefer that as a feature of the literary world. And here’s what I’ve been thinking. Some chapters, like greatness they say, are thrust upon you, while others you knowingly walk into.

You might choose to play soccer as a little tike – so that’s a chapter you walked into with presumptions and expectations, whereas the day you are beat up in front of the whole school, you suddenly and unwillingly move into a chapter of awareness and introspection and before you know it, a whole chunk of your personality is forming around those thoughts and feelings. So in this case, Jimmy didn’t get to choose to end the Innocent Childhood Chapter and move into the Adolescent Years of Horror Chapter.

Maybe you choose to take a job in a far away land. So you pack up and move. Chapter 5 to chapter 6. People remember their lives in these stages, marked by an event that would shape all the next things that come. This post is about the chapters you choose to walk into. So I’m thinking about chapters right. I got all the school chapters, the childhood chapter, that awful college one, the one full of aimlessness, my brief angry phase, and even a travel chapter, though that one gets to bleed over a little. My tendency to think about decisions for years before making a move and my love for extended stays in foreign places both relate to the point I have yet to make. Why don't you make it, you say?

It’s that I live my life constantly thinking about all the possible lives I could live and I very much dislike the concept of having to commit to just one. 

When you get thrown into a bad chapter, you tend to take the stance of “this is what it is and we will deal with it, make the best of it, work to change it.” When you choose a chapter, presumably because you think it is a good move or an exciting plan or a fortuitous risk, I still feel like I need a minute to let go of all of the other moves I won’t be making.

When I chose to go to SCAD, I was as excited about college as I was going to be but I still had little wonderings about the other schools. Am I making the right choice? Will things turn out better if I go somewhere else? What the crap will I do with an art degree? When choosing my next exotic leisure destination I’m always completely thrilled by the plans, but I still have to take a moment of silence for all of the other wonderful countries that I won’t be seeing. It’s not ungratefulness, it’s a process of letting go. I’ve written before about why I like to travel places. It’s not so much the food and the sights but it’s imagining what my life would be like if I lived there. This is what I would see. This is how I would get around. And once I’ve got a good mental picture, I can paint in the rest, the dreamy overly-optimistic, life I would lead. Sometimes I have to take a minute to mourn my little British life that I had for chunks at a time. All those summers in Wales, wandering mountains and forest trails, shopping in tiny markets, and hearing new accents everyday – I loved that and at the time, I was pretty happy to imagine my life there. When all of that ended I had a harder time letting go of that life painting than I did that relationship.

All of this is true for large decisions as well. Should I live here or there? I love this house but this one is in a better location. Eventually, I’ll pick and I’ll be really happy but I’ll also need a minute to frame my painting of the other house, so I can hang it up and let it be. Sometimes I’ll glance at that painting and think fondly but I think that’s ok and I think people should acknowledge that that’s ok. Last week I was running through the list of things I’ve got to let go of but being aware of these things doesn’t mean that you aren’t happy with what you have. So I’m probably not going to live in Britain and I suppose I’ll never live alone again. My sweet little cottage will have to accommodate furniture that I don’t approve of (unless I hurry and fill it up and “Oh! There’s just no room left. I’m sorry.”)

I’ve got to let go of my dream of being a homeless wanderer, I can’t jet off at a moments notice, and oh the economical delight of buying groceries for one. I reckon I’ll never have a party girl phase but I also won’t learn the lessons of someone who marries really late in life or never marries at all. How would I be different at 60 years old?

I think it’s normal to think about these things. (I’ve also always been overly confident that my feelings are true across the board.) Movies and magazines portray big happy choices as things that have no repercussions or any cherished bits that are left behind. I take a long time to make decisions because I want to be sure that I’m going to love the painting. And you know, I always do.

Brett had some similar thoughts but he was more focused on the chapters that we haven’t seen in each other, those whole chunks of our lives that the other will never really understand. For instance, he has a hard time with how much my family makes fun of Ellen. He’s only seen a sweet, excitable Ellen and get’s frustrated when we tease her. “You just don’t get it!” I sneer. On his end, well he was a Mississippi frat boy.

It’s a good thing I missed that chapter.

A Busy Winter

Pippa is skeptical of my definition of "going somewhere fun."

It’s coming to the end of my off-season and I am not surprised to report that I accomplished very few personal tasks and instead I emailed brides, did some manual labor, and spent my downtime looking at furniture that I’m too sensible to purchase. Brett and I also started to watch Breaking Bad, which is quite the exciting TV show. I also went to a ballet class with my friend Chelsea, had a few small dinner parties, started a one month booty workout that I completely forgot about after week three (just slipped my mind entirely), went to a few good shows, and started a Goodwill pile that is a sight to see.

So I’ve been busy not bettering myself in an effort to better myself better, later. Really I’ve fallen way off of my writing bandwagon. It could be many things. I have a routine now, which is a real creativity stifler, I feel I’ve written all the good stories I have to tell, I haven’t gotten out and done any strange things that might result in more stories, and lastly, I realized it really was time to do something with my stories so that made Inner-Laura pack up and run off.

Pippa takes her first selfie.

As for those other folks, Ellen and Dad are leaving on Thursday for a quick jaunt to Burma. Dad will be installing electricity into the orphanage he built and Ellen is going to work with the children that live there. We were all quite surprised that Ellen wanted to come along and we imagine this will be a very good experience for Princess Black Cloud. Little slice of humble pie. I’m excited for them but also very nervous. I’m particularly worried about Ellen turning on the idea when she sees the dirt and bugs and lack of wifi. Chris Union doesn’t do bad attitudes.

Big Mama has been tending to various “old folk” and making me laugh with her perpetually outraged disposition. She “can’t believe” lots of things and it’s good fun to watch her experience life.  Last week I went over for coffee one morning and we chatted until 11:00. I asked her what she was going to do today and she said, “It’s 11:00, the day is basically over!” and then we laughed and laughed at ourselves. We always think of the Seinfeld episode where George is upset because he has an appointment at 2:30 in the afternoon. “That’s my whole day!” he shouts. Do you ever feel that way?

In "Crew" news, Erik moved out, Nate moved in, there's a new dog, a new girlfriend, a new trashcan (that is new-dog-proof), and a shortage of time for all of us to get together. 

Busy times for The Crew.

We celebrate Erik's move-in day.

Sundays and Stubbornness

I realized early on that it was going to be way easier to get up on Sunday morning and go to brunch with Brett n’ Friends than it would be to go to church and sit with Jesus. Jesus doesn’t really say all that much and still manages to confuse me. I’d been on a church hiatus on account of hating small-talk, crowds, and people that hold your hands while they ask about your weekend. I preferred my own sort of church that I did alone, mostly because I’m shy and lazy.

Because of Brett, I started making myself go to church. I thought, “I’m going to lose this if I’m not careful.” so I had to take the tiny percentage of self-discipline that I have and put it towards a church commitment to counteract Eisenhauer's magnetic pull to the "We're going to grab coffee and head to the beach!" -style Sunday morning that feels so devious and wild. I immediately loved Pastor Steve. He’s my kind of speaker: funny, to the point, and slightly scary, like he means business and you should take things seriously. So Steve helped me stick to my guns and that’s when the devil stepped in. I had just started having panic attacks back at Bloom. I thought it was anxiety about my life and what to do with it because I was so restless and unhappy. I’d have a panic attack everyday at 1:30, which was my lunch break so sometimes I’d never get a chance to eat. I started to only feel safe at home, in my little creative space where life was full of color and potential. But then I’d have to go somewhere and I'd worry about having an attack and so doing any little task would make me panic. I got to where I couldn’t drive on the highway (in case of a spontaneous heart attack) and would go the long way around to North Charleston to pick up flowers. Driving to Mt. Pleasant, over that big suspension bridge, meant a cold sweat and dizziness and near hysteria. I found all of this frustrating because I’m way cooler than this. I like adventures. I've always loved driving and anyways, knowing what a panic attack is should be reason enough for it to go away. I started to have them in church too and would have to leave mid-sermon, convinced I was about to choke or faint or something unrealistic. I stopped wanting to go to church all together but Brett told me to stick with it because it’s important to me. One point for Wise-Eise.

Around this time my boss went on maternity leave and I was left to tend to the floral shop and that’s when I was let loose to “reach my potential” (Adults love that phrase). It was in this time wedge that I was able to actually fill my workday, instead of finishing up at 2:00 and standing around until it was time to close. I could handle way more work than I was being given and after that, well I just couldn’t be a shop flunky anymore, waiting around and panicking all day. That’s when God gave me the bright idea of working for myself. This had to be God’s idea because I’d have never given myself that much credit or signed up for anything that had too much responsibility in the description. Not once had I thought of being a business owner and I certainly would have never wanted to take on the vulnerability of having to perform a task for a client and hoping they come out happy, but God made me think it was a good idea and he made the start up really easy and before I really processed it, I was out of Bloom, sleeping in, and “running a business”.

Here’s where it gets good because I was immediately happy. Not panic-free or comfortable with any of the newness but I had time for my dreamy thoughts and story writing and colorful ideas that before, were being smothered out by the demands of The Man. A happier Lu meant a chattier, bouncier Lu and I harassed Brett with my thoughts on God and life and we had lots of good talks but he also asked me lots of big questions that I didn’t have answers for. That’s when I started to use my lazy mornings for quiet time with God, reading and studying and saying the most convoluted prayers. Sometimes I think God has to stop and take a deep breath when he first hears me say “Well good morning God!” 

My quiet time, which almost immediately felt like coffee with an old friend, changed everything. I had a bride recommend a devotional book for my restlessness and sweet Laurie Hon gave me one full of insightful thoughts. I read both of these in my little white chair over a couple of mornings and everything I “knew” about God suddenly came to life, like a flat drawing abruptly standing up off of the page. What peace and excitement it gave me.

But it ain’t all happy because that “Aha!” moment and the giddiness that followed only lasted about ten days before God politely closed the door to that party and told me I was going to have to work harder if I wanted to hang out there. “You can’t sit with us." It’s a great challenge though because sometimes I can get God to crack the door a little just to let me hear the music, keep me motivated.

I've been thinking about this 2-3 year progression; all the little moves God made to line me up, how long and awful it felt without realizing that it was adding up to something. God gave me someone I’d adore to challenge what I thought, knowing I’m stubborn enough to try to prove him wrong and then he gave me this business to give me time. I wanted the time for me but God gave me the time for him, because I’d have never given a quiet time a chance when I was so resentful and determined to use my few free hours for my own happiness.

So you see, in a roundabout way, Brett got me back into the church. I sure like this thought. Brett still has lots of big questions as he likes lots of research and evidence for the things that he’ll stand behind and God prefers that whole "faith" notion over hard facts. Brett does like Pastor Steve a lot though and he gives the hymns a nice remix that only I get to hear. For Christmas he signed me up for a subscription to a company that sends me a new devotional book (and other goodies) by mail every month. He's interested in these educational type things on the subject so I'm hoping for a few that focus on intellectual notions over emotional ones for future chats on the subject.

But you know, you can't rush God's plan.