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.