The sabbatical

I hesitated to title this entry "sabbatical."  The word defined as an "extended absence in the career of a person in order to achieve something."  I've largely heard this term slung around in academia.  Rarely do I see people in the real working world taking sabbatical.  Reality doesn't allow for sabbaticals.

While I didn't take a sabbatical from my real life work, I left my little art, DIY utopia for the past 5 months.  Why? I moved.

Wow, can we just talk for a brief moment about moving.  I can't sugar coat it. Moving sucks.

I new we were moving last fall, however, "the move" doesn't really hit you until you the truck shows up.  The movers, mechanically and without emotion, enter your home and begin to dismantle your life right in front of your eyes.  I'll never forget that day.  I repeated the mantra quietly to myself throughout the day "it's just stuff." 

The problem was it wasn't just "stuff." I'm not a stuff person.  Every item I've acquired typically has a story, associated to a time or person in my life.  Throughout the move day I tried to identify specific items that were being carefully wrapped and boxed away.  Each piece triggered a different emotion or memory followed by laughter or tears.

During the course of that day I watched the story of our life.  An old stack of milk crates represented our first closet storage.  A light pink baby blanket told the tale of bringing our Ava Claire home for the first time.  A garage full of gardening supplies told of a labor of love.  Art on the wall was hung with a story and removed with a memory.

After 5 months I didn't want this entry to be long.  It's pretty obvious from my sabbatical that I didn't write, I didn't create.  The day after the movers came I woke up and realized I was starting over.  It was a struggle to find a pair of shoes to wear let alone paint a new piece or write a new blog entry.  I was a bit lost.

Here's the beauty of the story.  Losing yourself can be a good thing.  Releasing the stuff, the memories and the routine creates a whole new creative element I never knew existed.  Once I picked myself up off the floor, wiped the tears and the "woe is me" away I realized I was whole and what was lost was not gone but was available to be re-created and re-born.

The story isn't over.  It's just beginning.