When Grumpy Meets Fall
I have a tendency to be a bit of a grump. Seeing as I read endless amounts of romance novels, the Grumpy/Sunshine trope could be the one that describes me best.
I wouldn’t say I’m intentionally cynical about the world, but that my general disposition in life has always erred on the side of less optimistic than the average person. I see myself as a realist while I can look at people’s faces when I speak sometimes and realize I’m mostly coming across as a Debbie Downer.
I’m like this year round, but it’s not necessarily from a “I’m clinically depressed” sort of way. I’m not, I’m just generally a “glass half empty” kind of gal. Or at the very least “someone already drank half the amount that was in there before” kind of gal.
Fall seems to hit that Grump button a little harder. Everything feels a little more Eeyore-like once the clouds roll in and the beautiful sunny days of autumn are fleeting. I sometimes joke that with my personal history of loss and grief that I carry around my own personal rain cloud. I try to make light of my reality, because if I don’t? People look at you with too much sadness or judgement.
This fall, I’m in this transition-phase (will I ever get out of this?). My sister and I just finished selling my late grandmother’s home. I’m a stay at home mom with a child who is home basically only home for dinner, but still needs me on school holidays, sick days, and for endless emotional support when he’s home for the evenings.
I’ve been trying to find my purpose outside of being an online business owner. Outside of being a caregiver to an elderly family member. To figure out what’s next for me.
I’ve been leaning hard into creativity. Exploring different art mediums. I’ve been dabbling and learning watercolor for a few years now. I’ve explored goauche a little. In the last month or so, I’ve picked up collage. I added in some mixed media. And just the last couple weeks, I’ve tried out weaving on a frame loom.
To say that I’m looking for “my thing” is an understatement. I’m throwing myself into self-expression as far and as fast as I possibly can. While I’m enjoying each and every one of them in their own ways, I’m constantly stepping back and wondering where that “spark” is. What is it that lights me up? Is it the making of something? Is it the creativity of coming up with a plan and executing it? Is it in the finished result? Is it in the sharing of that thing?
When my Grump shows up, I tell myself I’m not good at any of it. I remind myself of the parts that I don’t like. I see all the imperfections and the decades of years that I will likely need to “put in” in order to “be good” at any of them. Despite the fact that I have absolutely no intentions of putting work being in museums or on display in galleries.
It’s funny what my brain can do to stop me from simply being content. It’s funny how my brain can be one hundred times more mean to me than I’d ever be to someone else.
The truth is that even while I’m deep in my grumpy phase, I am enjoying the exploration of different colors, textures, and mediums. I seem to get to a point (admittedly almost once a week) where I question what it is I’m doing with my life. What it is I’m meant to do.
Is painting on paper then ripping it, collaging it, and creating a landscape my life’s work? Is weaving yarn all day what I’m supposed to do? Is this it? Is this what I’m meant to be spending my time on day in and day out for this season of my life?
It feels like connection is that piece that I’m missing. There’s very few people who are at the same stage of life that I am currently. Having lost many of people and no idea where to go from here.
With all these swirling questions, I realize that I’m somewhat wasting my life asking these questions rather than simply just creating, making, moving forward with the lessons that each medium and each attempt teach me.
I suppose my Grump is telling me that grief is normal. It comes and goes. Being a person is hard. Making things isn’t about even getting better, but just about showing up. Even imperfectly. And not doing it alone.