It’s been a couple of years now since I retired and there have been a few surprises, I must say. Surprise number one: clientele interaction had pretty much replaced social interaction. I had an inkling but yes, it’s time to admit, I’d become a hermit of sorts. So, I’ve been making an effort to put myself out there. There’s the painting group. I’ve attended enough sessions now to feel fairly comfortable. I was accused of appropriating aboriginal art at one point and my reaction was to stay away but after a missing a few sessions I got my to-heck-with-it back and all is well.
Then I saw a poster at the library showing a bunch of older folks sitting around a table having a wonderful time. It was an invitation to a free memoir writing class. I signed up. It’s been a roller coaster of emotion but overall well worth the angst. For one thing, I’ve learned I have angst. Oh Em Gee. I’ve also learned, when it comes to me being me in social situations, it’s well deserved angst. My parents weren’t completely out to lunch when they set about training me to accept that, as my mom would put it, ‘I’m not very likeable’. News flash: all those memes about being yourself are rubbish. If you’re a social moron, it’s probably best to keep a lid on it. I’m working on it.
It’s a great group of people and a fantastic facilitator. I’ve learned some things, for sure. I don’t want to write a memoir for one thing. I do want to write, though. That’s the biggie. There’s a feeling that I get when I’ve been working on something and I’ve finished it. I’ve missed that. When I was potting I’d aim for this many butter dishes and when they were sitting there, shining, in their fresh-off-the-wheel beauty the sense of satisfaction...well, it’s good. I’ve been getting that again from the last sentence. Dot.
And, like potting, writing is done in isolation. For me, that’s the good news/bad news thing. Learning to play nice with others is still on my list of goals but the contentment that I feel during periods of quietly ‘doing’ by myself can’t be a bad thing either. I have to get out there and screw up once in awhile to realize that. So now, I’m back to that aspect of life that continues to baffle. I’m organizing. I’m trying (and you know I don’t like that ’t’ word) to rid myself of the remnants of past interests and make my environment and routine condusive to current activities and goals. How about that, fellow stay-at-home travellers.
So, here goes. I have a file cabinet. Most of the content is rubbish. Good day for a back yard burn.
Then I saw a poster at the library showing a bunch of older folks sitting around a table having a wonderful time. It was an invitation to a free memoir writing class. I signed up. It’s been a roller coaster of emotion but overall well worth the angst. For one thing, I’ve learned I have angst. Oh Em Gee. I’ve also learned, when it comes to me being me in social situations, it’s well deserved angst. My parents weren’t completely out to lunch when they set about training me to accept that, as my mom would put it, ‘I’m not very likeable’. News flash: all those memes about being yourself are rubbish. If you’re a social moron, it’s probably best to keep a lid on it. I’m working on it.
It’s a great group of people and a fantastic facilitator. I’ve learned some things, for sure. I don’t want to write a memoir for one thing. I do want to write, though. That’s the biggie. There’s a feeling that I get when I’ve been working on something and I’ve finished it. I’ve missed that. When I was potting I’d aim for this many butter dishes and when they were sitting there, shining, in their fresh-off-the-wheel beauty the sense of satisfaction...well, it’s good. I’ve been getting that again from the last sentence. Dot.
And, like potting, writing is done in isolation. For me, that’s the good news/bad news thing. Learning to play nice with others is still on my list of goals but the contentment that I feel during periods of quietly ‘doing’ by myself can’t be a bad thing either. I have to get out there and screw up once in awhile to realize that. So now, I’m back to that aspect of life that continues to baffle. I’m organizing. I’m trying (and you know I don’t like that ’t’ word) to rid myself of the remnants of past interests and make my environment and routine condusive to current activities and goals. How about that, fellow stay-at-home travellers.
So, here goes. I have a file cabinet. Most of the content is rubbish. Good day for a back yard burn.
