Late Bloomer

Since late last year, I've had a supplemental career as a freelance writer for a publisher of biographies and nonfiction works for YA readers. The work is challenging both in good and tedious ways (and perhaps rushing through tedious tasks as if they are pointless is a lesson I could learn here), and for the amount of effort it requires, I am most certainly underpaid. 

When I finished my first book, I let out a huge sigh of relief and danced around my house and scared my cat and confused my dog who thought my excitement meant we were going for a walk. For the second book, I let out a deep breath, and promptly headed home for the holidays, glad to have the stress behind me. For the third, I was so happy that I threw on my ipod and went running, shaving one minute per mile off my usual pace. Yes, I'm running again. More on that later. When my first check arrived with the words Park Avenue after the name of the publisher, my heart did a little somersault.

I enjoy researching, planning, organizing, writing, and refining, but if they stopped paying me, I wouldn't keep doing. Being paid, however, is not only validating, it is also a big part of the fun and the motivation to keep doing it. Normally I would strategically invest a windfall (a hyperbole in this case) like this. This time, I've decided to invest in another way--I'm investing in my here and now, my present. This is my mad money, and mad money is fun money, and fun money is now money. I typically save every penny of fun money for traveling, i.e., future memories.  I've looked after my future pretty well these past several years, but sometimes I still fail to look after my now. For my here and now, my input has been pretty much hasty pudding, usually with mixed results, which makes it hard to get excited about investing in my now. 

I once lived in a fancy schmancy house when I lived in the South with my ex-husband. Cost of living was cheap there, and we lived in a gorgeous home that would have been the envy of all our friends. Of course, we didn't actually have friends there, being new transplants, and our lifestyle, well.... We wound up moving back North a year later, not long enough to even throw up a fresh coat of paint or a dinner party. One lonely Friday night in that big beautiful house, it occurred to me that fancy houses are only good for showing off, and if you've got no one to show off to, then they're pretty worthless.

I was both right and wrong, but I think I took that kernel a little too pragmatically in the years that followed. Taking the Spartan approach as it come to my immediate environs, I would say to myself, "I'll probably move again and I don't need more junk to haul around," or "This will quickly go out of style, so why bother?" Yet, I've always  loved poring over books and magazines on architecture, gardening, and carpentry. When I walk into someone's home who has obviously put their heart into making sure it reflects their personality, I get a twinge of excitement, and a gentle nudging inside. 

When I go to art shows, and I see something I like, I don't want to buy it; I want to make it myself. I don't think of myself as creative, outside of writing, but I'm starting to question that assessment. I remember as a teenager when all my friends were getting into clothes, I skipped that phase and went straight to "future apartment" decorating mode.

Without buying a lot of things, I have have managed to put a lot of color and texture in my house, enough that I get genuine praise from my contemporaries on my choices. I look at styles now, and realized I was about ten years ahead of my time, and I've never been able to say that about anything in my life as I am perpetual late bloomer.

 I want to walk into my house or my back yard and be as calm and inspired as I feel when I hand select a beach cottage (The Mermaid on Tybee Island), historic motel (Harmony Motel outside of Joshua Tree) luxury spa (the Pacific Gardens at The Regis in Dana Point, Orange County), or a luxury high rise apartment (Vancouver), or when I comb through pages of gardening magazines. I want inspiration from my own surroundings, and I don't just mean this mean zip code. I mean my own land parcel.  

As part of my journey, I want to stop looking to travel and exotic lands for inspiration. I want them in my own space, and I want to create them myself.

 A year ago, when my lawnmower broke, I got the idea to turn my back yard into an urban prairie. I was really excited about the idea, and could even envision it with various trees and flowers and art pieces, which I would create and build myself.  In the back of my mind I had doubts that I'd ever really do it, making it seem like merely a fantasy.

Last week I decided the time is now, and I hired a crew to do the heavy lifting on my project. Phase 1 is now complete, and I have 25% less lawn in my front and back yard. I had lots of other work done, too, including plowing up my old garden plot which has sat dormant for the past eight years. 

I had decided late last year that I didn't want to do any theater projects or writing so that I could focus on my yard project. Sunday, I finally planted the garden I've wanted for the past eight years, and it felt as good as finishing my first book! I live just a few hundred yards from a nursery, which means I have another locally owned business to frequent. I was there at least three times this weekend.

While prepping the garden, I decided to take my time instead of rushing. Rushing through tasks not only results in poor planning, it also makes me tired, because I put stress on myself to finish quickly, and if I'm stressed, then I'm not enjoying it. I try hard not to waste time, and am perhaps overly vigilant of it. It's not a waste of time to create something you love. It's the perfect way to spend free time. I need to learn how to relax when I'm working through my labors of love. One of my hardest lessons has always been to slow down. I'm always rushing everything, which often results in making mistakes. Often this happens when I attempt to do too many things. 

When I woke up Sunday, I made a mental list of several things I wanted to accomplish, and "plant garden" was only one of them. Once I got into the dirt, it hit me that finishing the garden was the only thing I had to commit to finishing and that the rest could wait til next week.  When a hose broke, and I had to fix it, I asked for Larry's help with brute strength part of re-coupling the pieces, I found myself sitting Indian style in the grass, wasting precious daylight, laughing as he put on a show of swearing and exaggeration. I realized how much nicer it was to laugh through what was a nuisance than to throw my usual tantrum.

Yes, lately I've found myself getting frustrated and quick to anger when things break or slow me down. In fact, Friday I resolved to not angry all day, not even once. More on that later. :)

After a couple of trips to the nursery, and many hours spent in the dirt, I have my garden, and I can't believe how good it feels.  I worked on it all day, and when it was finally time to give it all a big long drink with the (newly repaired) garden hose, I loved how it felt to know that I did the best job possible. I have three kinds of basil, chives, mint, and cilantro; tomatillos, pobanos, chiles, red peppers, sweet peppers, four kinds of tomatoes, rhubarb, cucumbers, and zucchini. I have room left for lettuce, which I'll plant today. I can't wait to make salsa, pico de gallo, gazpacho, marinara sauce, and rhubarb pie! Maybe I'll even have a "fruits of my labor" party at the end of summer!

My urban prairie is now basically a blank canvas, just waiting for the paint. I started to feel overwhelmed at the task, and instantly found myself back in the "this is a fantasy" frame of mind. I decided to focus on one project at a time, and I felt peace, and more importantly confidence that I can do this. Instead of rushing out to divide and replant flowers, I'm taking my time and thinking about the design and what plants I really want (milkweed is one I really want). I already have three really cool ideas! (Bottle Trees, bottle peacock, and Tipi made from pallets...more on that later!) 

When I think about this special place I am creating, I think of the delightful hours I'll spend, just basking the beauty of space that is uniquely mine. I'm going to take it a step further, however. I'm going to treat the creating part--the working part--as part of the fun and part of the reward. It won't come fast. It will take years. That's okay. Maybe by the time I get done, I will be ready to move on from this place. That's okay too, because I created it for the now, not for the future.

I learned this lesson a little late in life. Thankfully, not too late. Everyone loves those flowers that bloom at summer's end right?