We humans are a curious lot. We spend 99% of our time, our lives, mired in drudgery. 1%, if we are lucky, soaring in dreams and magic. Work takes up all your time, food shopping, cleaning, paying bills, doing the dishes and the laundry and on and on and on. You hit the recliner or the couch exhausted and medicate yourself with whiskey and TV.
I would like to believe that every single person has a talent, a dream that keeps them hopeful to make life bearable. I'm not sure this is true. Maybe there are millions of people with no dream, who trudge through their lives dead emotionally until they die physically. If that is life than it is a cruel joke.
Carol is participating in a craft fair today. She crochets. She crochets beautifully. We were up at 6:00 on a Saturday morning. I watched her pull all her stuff together, get it organized, helped her load The Bug, kissed her and wished her luck.
There was an air of excitement and nervousness in the house. She was very alive. This is what she does, it is who she is. She crochets every single night. It is therapy to her and an immense talent. Everybody admires her work, and rightfully so.
What struck me this morning was the contrast to the mood in this house on weekday mornings. Every day I watch Carol get ready for work. She literally mopes around the house. No enthusiasm, no excitement, sometimes it feels like dread. This is so opposite to her true nature that it hurts me to watch it every day. Carol is a positive person. She fights life with a positive attitude and appreciates the meaningful things. I'm the one who walks around saying that life sucks and the world is a cesspool. It hurts me to watch her Monday-Friday because even though I have the power to liberate her from this torture I haven't been together enough to do it. Yet. But that's a story for another place and time.
She has participated in other craft fairs and come away disappointed. Selling only one or two things, making little or no money. As a human she interprets this as a commentary on her talent. She even said to me today "What if my stuff looks like crap compared to everybody else's?" My god, that is like Picasso saying "What if my paintings don't measure up to that kindergarten kid's stick figures?"
But that is the nature of dreams. We have so little time to devote to them that every defeat seems enormous by way of comparison.
Carol was alive this morning. It is the way she deserves to be every single day of her life. Creating beautiful things comes from her soul, it nourishes her and satisfies her. Tangible proof of the beautiful spirit limited by the nine to five grind.
She is very excited about this particular craft fair. She described it as a real craft fair. Her hope is high. It will break my heart if she does not do well, if she is disappointed. I have seen it before and I hate it. She comes home down after all the effort, all the pride, all the work, all the hope. She deserves so much better.
If people don't buy her stuff it is a reflection on them, not her. Maybe they don't have the money, maybe they cannot recognize beauty when they see it, maybe they are just damn cheap, maybe they don't realize the effort and the talent and the love that goes into the making of these things. Maybe we are in the wrong place, maybe in another town or city or state, Carol could sell everything she makes as fast as she makes it. Make a living from it and kiss nine to five goodbye.
I watched my wife be alive today. I felt her anxiousness, and saw her dream alive in her eyes. I am stopping by on my way to work and I pray that she is doing well. I hope she kicks craft fair ass today.
If she does not, I take comfort in knowing that she is a fighter. Carol never gives up. Her spirit and her talent won't allow it.
Her momentary doubt this morning really bothered me, especially in contrast to her excitement about participating in this event. But I got to see her soul, and that is a special moment between a husband and wife because it is so real, so raw and so real.
Kick some ass today, baby. I love you with all my heart.
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