the blue muse

My world became very small this week, so small that I couldn’t see anything but the monitor that was in front of me 15 hours a day, three days in a row. Then the next day was a twelve-hour day, and that felt like a little vacation. That is the nature of my business, graphic design, everyone always needs everything yesterday. It is part of the deal. Deadlines loom. Rush jobs are accepted. I can never say no, there is always fear of losing income, or clients.

For the first few days (okay, all three), I did a lot of whining and complaining and moaning, literally, every time I stood up because I was so stiff from sitting in one position for so long. And yesterday wasn’t that much different, except that finally I felt my attitude shifting… ever so slightly, from grumpy and resentful to grateful and appreciative.

A couple of things happened along the way, things that made me realize how trifling my complaints were, how very tiny when placed within the frame of the big picture. I talked to a friend whose mother is dealing with cancer. Then I talked to another friend whose town, street, house, was flooding.

The other thing that happened was much smaller in scale, but it was still a revelation. I realized that I am not having enough fun, in fact, I am not having very much fun at all, and it is my own fault. I wrote about that in my last post, and I have been thinking about it ever since.

It’s so easy to lose perspective, so easy to lose sight of how precious life is, every day, every hour. And I work hard at not forgetting, I consciously try to live in the moment, but some days, I just plain forget. This whole week got away from me. I didn’t enjoy any of it, I sat there and did the work that had to be done and I pouted and I groused and there was a lot of woe is me floating around above my head.

What a waste of time, for me to think like that, act like that, feel like that. I am here. The sun is shining, or it is raining, or it is cold or hot or stormy, but I am here. I have food and shelter and family and friends and so many, many things to be grateful for.

I am also human, flawed and prone to tunnel vision. But there is a whole gigantic world out there, so much greater than the tiny space I see before me. A world filled with love and hope and friends and possibility. I couldn’t see that world this week — I was blinded by self-pity — but it was there.

Today, I am opening my eyes.

Embracing life, one crazy, crazy minute at a time.