I am feeling a thousand crazy things right now. Mingled in my mind are excitement, fear, inspiration, creativity, vulnerability, and the tiniest seed of hope.
My garage is full of treasures that I've rescued and collected. I have so many now that I can’t possibly keep them all.
So it’s time to start selling them.
I inhaled, I closed my eyes, and I took the leap.
I’m a flower, and it’s springtime, and I’m almost open.
I’m stepping out. I'm opening up. I have wanted this for a long time, so I'm reaching out to take it.
I am starting an interior design business -- Pearls & Ferns, named for my grandmothers -- and I'm using these gifts that I have been given.
So, here goes. I'm opening. I'm both exhilarated and terrified, but I am pushing beyond my fear.
It's time, and I'm ready to spread my petals, catch the sun and shine.
I saved the glass.
Three years ago, January 21, 2014, I emerged from a seizure in my car covered in broken glass.
I was fine. I had my foot on the brake when it happened, so they’d only had to break my window to get me out, but those pieces went everywhere.
When the window was replaced, most of it was cleaned up, but tiny sparkles always emerged from their hiding places. I kept finding them. For days after.
Three years after.
In my coat pocket. In my purse. Beneath the car seats. In the center console. Wedged between the carpet and the plastic of the car door frame.
The ones that I couldn’t reach with the vacuum cleaner glittered at me every time I got behind the wheel, almost mocking me with their winks and sparkles. I had conquered my fear of driving, and that glass represented that fear. It was hard to look at. I had to make a conscious effort to avert my eyes when those sparkles beckoned. It represented my mortality.
But it also represented my miracle.
So I peeled the sticker off a lint roller and went after it.
It was pretty, in a way, even stuck to that lint roller paper along with the dog hair and crumbs and dead bugs and sand.
It was beautiful and broken. It spoke to me.
So I made something out of it.
It involved pink styrofoam and concrete and a broken mirror I had lying around and a lot of punching and even more tears.
But most of all, it involved healing.
I’ve been creating stuff. Just to keep busy.
And when I say stuff, I mean...well, stuff. Sky’s the limit. Everything from headbands to furniture to jewelry to curtains to Barbie clothes to what I hope might even constitute art. I make most of it out of freebies or garbage. I see all of these discarded things and can’t help but see potential in them. (I love junk.) Most of it is complete experimentation, a learn-as-you-go sort of thing without much of a plan.
I’m a “re-imaginer.” (Yes. I like that. I hope to put it on a business card someday.)
But what I am finding that I truly love is the process of creation. It’s fun and it makes me feel alive. I have a soft spot for ugly things and this drive to coax the beauty out of them, and the process is truly satisfying.
Part of being brave, I decided, was to put these creations out there. I mean, my house can only hold so much. And it’s my sincere hope that other people can enjoy the stuff I’ve been making as much as I’ve enjoyed making it.
It’s a night stand.
Some of the knobs are vintage (recycled from some other piece I upgraded), and the top is covered in pages from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. (Relax--the book was already damaged.) I love the result. I’m proud of it.
And putting it out there, telling people that I do all this stuff, is a bit scary. It's like revealing a part of myself that I've always kept hidden. But I’ve recently resolved to be braver.
So, here goes. Enjoy.