When Ricoh planned this sip and paint home date night for us, I didn’t think he realized that this would be more than a romantic gesture. It was therapy.
But, he did know.
Of course, he knew.
He’s my twin flame.
As a writer, nothing is quite as frustrating as not being able to articulate your emotions. Thanks to Ricoh’s intuitive love, art has become my go to when those situations arise.
What’s funny is that I used to paint as a teenager, but I didn’t take it seriously because writing was always my focus. It’s a gift, I guess you could say, that I passed on to my daughter — but it didn’t start with me.
It started with my mother.
She’s one of the most creative women I know and, in all honesty, I got my love for language and spirituality from her, too.
When I was a kid, she drew and painted Precious Moments on the walls of the church nursery. (If you know, you know.) They were some of the most beautiful scenes and I admired her so much for her talent.
And she got it from her father.
He didn’t paint or draw or write poetry. He was a photographer. Well, he was a real estate appraiser, but photography was his art. My grandma has dozens of thick photo albums filled with pictures that he took of our family throughout the years before he died in 2017.
Cancer.
They were married for 55 years.
Moments after he died, I remember my grandma literally wailing, “What am I going to do now?” I don’t know if she was asking God or the family or what, but that’s when I realized how momentous their love was. And I wanted to have that: a love so deep and thick that I wouldn’t even know what I’m supposed to do if it no longer exists.
That’s the type of love I have with Ricoh.
That’s the type of love Ricoh has with me.
It’s bitter sweet, really. One day, the inevitable will happen and I will leave him or he will leave me just like my grandfather left my grandma.
On the one hand, that type of pain makes you wonder if love is really worth it. Wouldn’t it be better to just live out your days in total solitude? Or maybe we’re the lucky ones, to have found each other and built a life together when so many people go to their graves never knowing.
The dichotomy of life and death, love and loss, are just big reminders of how light and darkness co-exist within all of us and our experiences. They have to. The human experience wouldn’t be the human experience without the presence of both.
Aha’s like this make me realize things like fear, anxiety, and doubt are part of who we are just as much as peace, joy, and love. As we put energy into manifesting the lives we want, the resistance doesn’t lie in the “negative” emotions in and of themselves. They resistance comes when we surrender our power and grant negativity control.
In other words, we shouldn’t accept negativity — but we probably should start learning how to embrace them.
By embracing the negativity, we acknowledge our very real emotions without allowing them to run rampant. Instead, we maintain our position of authority and, consequently, our ability to figure out the root of the problem. And when that happens, those spaces that were void or broken are transformed into something whole, healed, and beautiful.
Reflect
What parts of yourself do you usually keep in the shadows? How might it feel to bring them into the light?
Is there something creative you could try that might help you process what you’re feeling?
How often do you allow yourself to just feel without trying to fix or change anything?