Being a firm believer in 'walking the talk' has gotten me into
trouble on more than one occasion. This is fine with me. I found very little in
this world that nourishes humility so well as steady diet of eating your own
words.
My New Year's resolution at the
beginning of January wasn't an exception in this regard. It's been exactly one
month since many of us have decided to take a plunge at giving ourselves, the
world, God and the universe one more chance to make it a little better place.
One month later, some people have made it a
better place even without making any resolutions at all while others have made
it worse without even trying. I guess each of us has our own special gift.
Which brings me back to my
resolution.
As long as I can remember, I
was told that I have a gift of words. I humbly agreed and proceeded to use this
gift, for better or for worse, and became 'the Writer' in the family. Safely
pigeonholed inside my 'domain' I marveled, oooo-ohed
and aaaaa-ahed at all the other gifts distributed to other people. I would lie if I said I was never jealous, but mostly I've been amazed at the incredible diversity and power of various creative
expressions.
If there was one gift in particular, however, that I really really wanted
was being able to draw and paint. Especially watercolor.
Alas, that wasn't my gift. I can draw a stick
figure and that’s about it. I wasn't the Artist. I was just a writer. And not
particularly good writer. I never even published a book!
All these years this was my
mindset. Some of you may say that I've been held captive, imprisoned by my very
own limiting beliefs. That I have been living in a tiny dark musty cell of a self-made
jail, without a warden except for the one residing inside my head.
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