Inspiring My Compulsion

 I often wonder which I am,

how much of the current circumstances dictate one v. the other. And, why I have to allow the compulsion to have such a negative connotation even when I know that they both play off of each other and feed into each other. 

My kitten Birdie, who I saved from being unwanted, from a 4 month long rabies quarantine, named, spayed, vaccinated, and then gave her a home full of love.
She is checking out her Easter basket I made and the flowers we grew and bouquets I created. 

I tell myself over and over, like some meditational affirmation, that as long as my intentions are pure and genuine with the goal being to serve something and someone beyond me, that it isn't terribly important to categorize and profile. Right? 

Can I be both inspired and compulsive? Is one beneficial and the other detrimental? Can I be a half of two and more than one as the product?

The bike path, Georgetown to Lewes, Delaware

Yesterday we went for a run with the dogs. We are staying at my friends beach house in Lewes, Delaware for the week. Myself, my husband Joe, my sister Diedra, and her two boys along with one of their friends. Our normal routine is to get up around 8 (a good two hours past our normal at home chore and make it to work time), and run with the dogs before it gets too hot outside. The typical mid-July day temps are mid-nineties, and the sun is brutal in its prime. The dogs are excellent vacationers. They are used to being included in all family activities, but they still need outside time and bathroom opportunities. We have a short jog to the old railroad trail that is now blacktopped and wide enough for the brigade of bikes that it hosts. We can go right and head to downtown where The Station on Kings resides. The Station is a barn like looking structure with a sunbathed sky-light interior and a garden store adjacent. White marbled countertops showcase delectable baked goods that are irresistible to all of the senses that attempt to talk down the blood sugar count. This particular morning we ran to the left. Two miles to the left is Old World Breads bakery. Old World hits you within a half mile of its ovens. The invisible lasso of egg sandwiches, fluffy yeasty crusted rolls and coffee is cosmic. The dogs prefer left too. Like the horse returning to the barn these pups pull you to the breads in a hopeful dash to carb-ed bliss. The jog in either direction is only a few miles under a tree canopy tunnel. The dogs are used to sharing the road and they love the adventure almost as much as their chaperones do. 

At each destination we take turns going into the bakery. Dogs aren't allowed and I would never trust mine to not whine and beg in some pitiful display of unmet needs. I stick to a coffee, small. Pack light and stay prepared for the run back. This morning we collected our coffees, packed a backpack with goodies and headed to the nearby park bench to swallow gulps of hot coffee and plan the rest of the day. 

The Station On Kings, Lewes, Delaware

There is only one bench. Sitting there smiling in the shade was a young woman and her flat tired bike. We asked to sit next to her and watched as the dogs approached wagging and gleeful. It is a beach town where dogs are ubiquitous, but that doesn't imply everyone's affirmation to pet loving. Thankfully as they approached she offered a hand of hello. Within minutes we had exchanged basic introductions. Dogs names first, her predicament second. She was biking 20 miles to run her errands for the day and enjoy the sunshine. She, like us, does everything she can to avoid cars, heavy traffic and the bustle the rest of the world accepts as collateral for living in the beaches. She was waiting for her daughter to wake up and come rescue her. We offered to head home and come back to get her with our car. 

"Nope, it's a beautiful day out. So, I am just going to enjoy it here." She was perfectly content to sit and watch the rest of the beach ride by. 

Old World coffee counter

I was struck by her answer. I don't think I can remember the last time that I took joy in being stranded and having to rearrange my list of errands for the day because of it. 

Old World Breads pretzel

Diedra chatted her up and together they both realized they were teachers who agreed that the pulse of the Summer allowed the rest of the years chaos to be permissible. My sister is a math teacher. All rules and animosity to students who struggle to conform to its rigidity. This mom with the flat tire, an art teacher in the local high school. She has been here for over two decades. Long enough to have seen this place balloon into high rises, condos, and vanishing farm lands. 

"I came here as a child. It was always our Summer retreat spot. When I graduated college I got my first job here, lived on the beach in the Summer and I couldn't leave." She now has ids of her own and still cannot get enough of the sunshine and its Summer vibes.

Beach life

She got me thinking about my life. Where I am, how I got here and how much the sun, the sand and the sea influences my joy.

I used to dream of being an artist. immersing my whole soul into color, The creative outburst of just feeling set into the world for pure joy. It is the reason I do so many incursions into my back yard and excursions into the big city. The reason I write and read and find escape in other peoples work. 

The photos of my kids,, at home.

I live vicariously through others. I surround myself with clothes, shoes, jewelry and interior design. I build and acquire and put little pieces of my soul out into the world. Some of it is buried in an abdomen. The magic of surgery set to make the patient a more viable soul to go back into the realm of the living. 

Maybe I get the creative process mixed up with the artistic influence? And maybe the work I build doesn't have to be for pure aesthetics. Maybe the work I do is all about feelings and the hidden magic that building yourself into an expert entails.

Seraphina and me. A very good example of my work.
my inspiration and my compulsion.

Is my passion the same as my inspiration and my compulsion? Yes. Call me what you want but I get to live a life that allows me personal expression, freedom to live and love and the acknowledgment that it makes lives better,, even if those lives can't pay me, or thank me, or allow me to sign my name to it. It's all about giving back and sharing joy. The mark of any great artist. 

The Artists Village in Asheville NC

What inspires you? And, is it enough to compel you to do something?