Dream big, but a little less specific, perhaps

I've been thinking about ending this blog. I can't remember the exact thing I heard, but it was something like bloggers are just "throwing up into the abyss", or maybe it was "vomiting into the void". Either way, it had me feeling like blogging is a waist of time and kind of a self-important act. There's also the fact that my dream for my blogging was to become something that would amass readers from all over, which I guess fills the self-important part. Anyway, for now, I'm still here.

And on to other matters.

About a year and a half ago, I wrote a post that started out with a girl on "Sister Wives" coming out as gay. I made brief mention about how her mom was struggling with it. One of the things her mom was struggling with was her dream for her daughter. Things like her getting married and picking out dresses for that. Also having grandchildren from her. All of these things can still happen, but in a different way.

Recently, I heard that someone I know, let's call her Susie, has a daughter who now identifies as male. Susie is a progressive liberal who is also a mom. She is struggling with how this is so difficult when she is so liberal. But, she's struggling with what she envisioned for her child and for the difficulties life has in store for her child. She knew what she wanted for her child and this wasn't it.

Then, another person I know was talking about her baby girl. It was about the future and the wedding she will have. And the groom and all the traditional things. She was dreaming big. She dreams big about all the things her baby can and/or will become.

All of this got me thinking. I think it is so easy to fall in love with the life you imagine for your child. I know, I don't have biological kids that I've raised since birth, but I still can observe things. Maybe parents should dial back their dreams for their children. Maybe the dreams should be for hope, love, peace, happiness, strength, and so much more. Happiness doesn't have to be boxed up in a trip to the bridal store to try on dresses for a cis wedding. When you wish that box on your child and your child simply cannot open it for you, happiness, for maybe only a brief moment, doesn't happen. 

One of the greatest moments with my dad was when I apologized for being his greatest disappointment and he told me that I wasn't and that all he ever wants for me, all he ever wants for my siblings, is to be happy.

So, dream happiness, dream love, dream strength, dream peace and allow them to figure out how to manifest those things.

My favorite color's green except that one shade

Last weekend Shawn and I were at a comic convention to promote his comic, The Specialists. Conventions are always an interesting experience, and this was no different.

As I was sitting there and as I walked around, I took in so much. At the end of it all, I had a mix of emotions. I wouldn't call it envy, that green eyed monster, because I think that has anger behind it. I wasn't angry. I admired the creativity that was expressed; the art and the writing. And then I felt sad. It was a sadness about my wasted talents.

Years ago, I did draw. Not the black & white doodles that were worth framing and displaying in my own house, but realistic images in pencil. The last one and one I'm most proud of was a little over 20 years ago. I did a drawing of my nephew from a photograph I had. Is it convention worthy? No. I probably wouldn't be able to get any money for it, but it was good. I look at it and I know it is him.

Why did I stop taking art after 9th grade? Why did I stop doing it on my own? I don't know. I guess it wasn't on my life's trajectory.

Then, there's the writing. College papers and my creative writing course about wrap up my use of writing. I never wrote very long papers. Really was a minimum requirement kind of gal. The longest story I could manage was a single page. Why didn't I do more with that? I was an English major....I was an English major who didn't want to teach and was headed to the convent where something would be figured out.

These thoughts about my undeveloped talents are happening in the midst of some of Shawn's thoughts about himself as a writer. His doubts about his talent. His thoughts that when he writes nothing good comes out.

Shawn is amazingly talented. His creativity with the wedding vows he wrote put my vows to shame. I mean, Mad Libs and Dr. Suess? Who does that? Who does that well? Then, he writes The Specialists and has a vision of the story that will culminate in 12 chapters. He also comes up with these vignettes about himself and our dog, Jarvis. They are so funny. He is, indeed, gifted.

In thinking about all of this stuff, I've come to realize that my brain doesn't work in fiction. I don't have imagined stories to write with made up characters and places heading toward some plot point to resolve. My drawing needs to have an actual, existing thing for me to follow. And now, my hands get the shakes at any old time they feel like it, so that's not conducive to drawing.

Maybe, if I did more way back when, my brain would know how to make stuff up.

Hard work, dedication, and dreams coming true

I love my husband and have many reasons for doing so. Some of them are none of your damn business. However, I do have some things I am willing to share, even brag about to the masses. So, here it goes.

Over 20 years ago, he met his friend Al at CU Boulder. Out of that meeting they developed their geeky interests and unique talents into a long-term friendship. They really had creative energy between them that, all these years later, brought them to a realization of a collaborative dream.

The original idea was to create a superhero role-playing game. They began work on this and from that came a whole other project! Five years ago they launched their webcomic The Specialists.

I admire them both. Al is a talented artist, a good friend, has good taste in woman seeing as he married my long-time friend Linda. Shawn is a talented writer, a good friend, married me so the good taste may be debatable, and he's great father.

This creative team has come quite far since the initial launch of the comic. They have developed a fan base, a growing audience, and actively engage readers in dialogue via comments on the site. The commitment they have made to this project has my admiration, especially since both have full-time careers and lives outside of the comic. How they do it is still a mystery to me.

At this point, they have finished 4 chapters of the story of The Specialists. As a chapter finished online, they printed them in paperback, taking them to various comic/pop culture conventions. Now, they are working on releasing a hardback volume comprised of all four chapters in one beautiful book. If you would like to help them to reach this next phase of their vision, please consider backing them in their Kickstarter campaign. Passing along the campaign to those you think may be interested, pledging even $1, and/or following the online version of The Specialists are all appreciated ways of giving your support to my personal superhero and our superhero friend. They are quite the dynamic duo. 

This is 40?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's been awhile. I've been all over the place in my head. The anxiety character has been center stage in a real leading role. Starting 2015 hit a bit hard and cast off my streak of positive spins on life.

Sometimes, it seems that a sense of humor used for coping can mean people don't really understand you when you are serious. My anxiety can manifest itself in some ridiculous ways. I can recognize the silliness of some of it from an outsider's point-of-view, but it doesn't mean I can stop it easily.

So, why the picture of socks? Well, I have always had a love for patterned socks. This love meant wearing non-patterned clothes, often including shirts with a simple graphic image or character. If I chose to wear the socks in the picture, the goldfish could be worn with a shirt that is plain white; plain orange; or, one of the plain blues. For the Stormtrooper socks, I would be okay with a solid black; solid white; solid red; or, maybe even a shirt (black, white, red, or perhaps gray) with an image from "Star Wars".

I decided to go out of my comfort zone and wear some patterned socks with shirts I never would have considered. This wasn't as daring as it could have been because I was wearing long pants. It wasn't like anyone was really going to see the socks. I did this a couple of times. But, I still had other restrictions I would place on wearing the socks. One day, I was going to wear the Stormtrooper socks and thought about wearing a black t-shirt with a white image of Spider-Man on it. I could not do it. There was no way I was going to be okay with mixing a Marvel character mixing with a "Star Wars" image. At this point, there is no way for my stress level to accommodate wearing mismatched socks. I get anxious when I see mismatched socks on someone, or intentionally sold that way.

I bet you, dear reader, are wondering what any of this has to do with the title of this post. Well, I think my anxiety being on the rise is partially related to a new year starting and my 40th birthday coming up next month. The socks wearing decisions give me a sense of control in what feels like a dreaded time.

Many have mentioned the awesomeness that 40 brings or how it is merely a number. The thing is, for some of those people, they had kids and/or a career. They had a sense of purpose, a meaning to life.

I'm having an epic stare down with my 40th birthday. No matter what the year, my birthday marks the approximate anniversary of a failed embryo implant. But, adding 40 into the mix adds some salt. I thought we would have kids at this point. Also, I thought I'd be able to tolerate any job as long as I had those kids. Now, I don't have the kids, I don't have the uterus, and I don't have any idea what to do with myself. What I do have is anxiety and depression because I should have my life together and I don't know how to get beyond my head to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Pipe dreams

Where does the term "pipe dream" come from? I think it's been around longer than the popularity of crack pipes. I just mean, I don't think it is talking about the dreams you might have in a drug induced state.

Anyway, already off topic and this post has only just begun.

I've been thinking about all different kinds of professions or things I dream would be professions.

I could:

• Be a doctor. I would have to conquer my hyper-sensitive gag reflex when it comes to blood, guts, and odors, which is simple, right? Oh, and not pass-out.
• Be a teacher. Now, I was on this path before and I'm not sure I could revisit it. See, to me, it resembles the stuff I hated about being a manager---discipline and performance reviews.
• Write a book...that people would actually read. This means I'd have to fill more than a couple of pages. I think the longest thing I ever wrote was under 30 pages. It also included A LOT from source materials; was double spaced on 8 1/2" X 11" paper with 1 inch margins all around; and, was boring as hell (ok, hell probably isn't all that boring if it's filled with all the people who have been told to go there, but you get what I mean).
• Open a business naming business. I've come up with some names that I think would be pretty clever names for businesses. However, are there enough businesses being created to make creating a business naming business worthwhile? 
• Travel with my BFF Linda. We would go to quirky places, festivals, events that were specific to the area. I would write and she would take photos and it would be amazing. It would be our very own take on the British series, Two Fat Ladies. It would not be a cooking show, just an amazingly, snarky, and fun adventure with us in whatever our trademark vehicle turns out to be. This is probably the one I most wish would happen. This is the pipe dream; the one I would love to do if money were no object.

Well, in the meantime, I'll just blog along and try to get some work that IS NOT retail and/or management.