Painting Things Paprika

Painting Things Paprika

The past year has brought lots of surprises / new things / change. Marriage. Being a wonderful extroverted man’s wife. A new home. A different job. Altered interests, likes and dislikes. Settling into changes that I realize could be here today and gone tomorrow. Sometimes I am thriving in and excited for the mysterious transient nature of life around and within me continuously shifting and taking new shapes. Other times I  find myself reminiscent and a bit sad about what was, could have been or will be.

I spent 40 something minutes this morning with a split screen on my mac. One side had me reading through baby names (side note: who names their kid “abcde”? seriously. how do you even pronounce that, anyway?) and the other side had me watching a BBC documentary of inspirational women aged 70+ testing the “norms” of what older women do: How they act. How they dress. How they spend their time on any given day.

I’m in my thirties now and never have I had the strange magnetic pull that some girls have to peruse virtual aisles of baby names… ’til this morning, of course. BBC documentaries have become a brand new fascination as of late. Seven Up had me hook, line and sinker a few weeks ago. Also, I can go an entire morning on my day off in an empty house (aside from the antics of a puppy and silent stalking of a cat) without any music playing. Sometimes at the end of my workday now, I will get in my car and drive off content with quiet. I have a real hard time sitting and reading or writing anything for longer than 45 minutes.

Who the heck am I? That girl above sounds all so odd and unfamiliar. It’s remembering the girl who could get absolutely lost in reading a book, that I romanticize greener pastures with. The one who listened to music. Always. Even while drifting off to sleep. I used to have so many ideas running rampant through my head, I had to literally stop whatever I was doing to write them down, for fear of spontaneous implosion. And then, to stop writing was painful.

On the flip side, I am OK with quiet of the absolute variety. Well, as absolute as it can be, anyway. The internal hum is ever present. I recognize that in my new job, working a ten hour day with kids who rarely have a public service approved volume level, means that a quiet ride home is just as much a gift as blasting my favorite CD after an eight hour day in a grey cubicle, used to be. Also, I’m finally (mostly) at home with being a self-admitted introvert. Knowing that, that isn’t an ugly personality defect or worse: a place that I somehow haven’t allowed God to take over and prune out of me. I still wish I read more than watching documentaries – BBC or Facebook variety. Facebook is a documentary, right?

Thankfully, I still have a strong proclivity to colors like paprika. I hope that part of me doesn’t ever change.

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