Summer Days Ahead

Shiso 

All I want to do is cultivate my indoor garden and read classic literature this summer.  However, I've got a lot more to do in the next few months, such as:

1. Work on my new domain : www.theintrovertedwriter.com--I'm very excited about this very recent development.  (It is my hope that this particular site, if it comes to manageable fruition, will constitute an easier-to-remember link.  Yes, it is from my experience that people tend to not remember the name, EmeraldCut!  My blog and Etsy shop urls will remain the same.)

2. Figure out some important EmeraldCut logistics, in relation to the new (hopefully) easier-to-remember site.  (Define, define, define.)

3. Cultivate my indoor garden.  (Enough said.  Something as simple as caring for an indoor, windowsill garden = sanity.)

 4. Read.  (Mainly, finish reading the two books that I have on my desk by the end of summer, and if this is done, start a few more; I'm a very slow and compulsive reader.)

Reading

5. Drink coffee on a regular basis. (A girl can have her coffee, can't she?  For me, a morning coffee is part of the contemplative process of easing into the day, of helping to generate new ideas, perspectives, and thoughts.  It is often that these wildly erratic, caffeine-high thoughts provide the fundamental blueprint for EmeraldCut items for sale in my shop, in addition to inspiration for blog topics.)

6. Psyche myself up for this bridesmaid business.  (Terrifying, indeed, for me!)

7. Learn how to embrace changes.  (I think that this a statement that rings true for many introverts who tend to dance to the beat of their own drum rather than follow the crowd.  If you're like me, changes can sometimes throw you off-kilter.  But instead of viewing change as disorienting, look at it as a learning experience.  A disorienting learning experience is more like it!  This adjustment in mindset is far easier said than done, but I'm working on it.)

How will you spend your summer?  I hope it's both relaxing and productive!

Freewriting

This is just an exercise, a wild, frenzied foray into the art of storytelling--a truth-spinning act that I am both rusty and extremely nervous about carrying out.  Writing, contrary to my opening sentence, has tended to always be my fallback action, something that I fell back into doing when I wanted to escape the then-present time.  If it wasn't writing, it was reading, for which my vision did not thank me for as I got older, for I am as blind as a bat and as frustrated as one in daytime when in a throng of people.  As a child, books were my constant companions with whom I could converse and relate to through reading, which, when faced with people who were less than kind, was a welcome sign of relief.  Lost in thought--this phrase chiefly characterized my awkward formative years.

The phrase "lost in thought" has also been used to describe some of the most enigmatic (or conversely, truly underrated) literary characters in the history of literature to date, who were of course thought up by some seriously talented, humble writers--many of whom were, themselves, awkward and perpetually "lost in thought."

Give me a book, and I will be happy.

Give me some scratch paper, and I will write you a story...

Storytelling is a scary act because it reveals the very marrow of the soul.  Imprinted in the words on the page are various subtexts that, when read carefully, divulge our very fears and desires, our hopes and dreams (lived through the characters, of course).  Storytelling metaphorically strips you of your clothing, leaving you bare with only your emotionally-driven mind to see you though.  This nerve-inducing act of telling stories leaves one painfully bare-boned, yet somehow something deeper arises in the thickness of this anxiety and fear--wafts through the air like thick tendrils of fog along the Golden Gate.

In the Blogging Spirit

An image from my October photo-a-day challenge.
Read about it here.

Been thinking a lot about my comfort zone lately, which has always been quite cushy and warm.  But lately, it's become rather overwhelming and stagnant--like a bad rush of mid-summer heat in the fall.  So, in the blogging spirit, to push myself out of that comfort zone, I'm going to let you in on a secret: someone who I am close to is getting married, and asked me to be one of her bridesmaids...I am terrified.  The photographs (that I won't share here, sorry), the full-on upbeat smiles, the dress I most likely won't be comfortable in, the ceremonial camaraderie of it all.  It frightens me so, to the point of my only saying yes because she is who she is to me; and she is lovely.  (By the way, yes, I did indeed say yes.)  Picking my own bridesmaid dress would alleviate much of the anxiety (hint hint).  But all playfulness aside, she--a quieter soul, herself--is as graceful, poised, and silly as I am contemplative and introverted, so I know it will all be fine.  It will be a beautiful day.

The Day My Computer (Almost) Died

I have an older version of the celebrated Macbook, and it has truly lived up to its hype: no computer viruses, quick log-in time, and too many fun apps to fill up my free time.  What more could I ask for?

Well, the Macbook lived up to its hype until yesterday, when I turned on my laptop and it gave a dejected sigh, and then subsequently went dead.  In disbelief, I tried turning it on again and again, until it quit making any noise and went completely dead.  My six-year-old workhorse, dead??  I was in a mild state of shock over this, I kid you not.

Don't know how I got this bright idea, but I did.  (You see, I'm not fully in-tune with technology.  Case in point: I taught myself how to use the iMovie app just last year.)  Take out the battery--which now does not work without the outlet charger plugged in at all times, clean off the dust layers that thickly line the surfaces of where the battery and battery chamber meet, and lastly, put it all back in safely and securely.  What do you know, that did the trick.

Today, my laptop turned on normally, sans the dejected sigh and blank screen--so, it was a (very) superficial battery issue and not a hardware one.  Who knew that a layer of dust could cause a computer to malfunction like this.  And I thought technology was the culprit, ha!

Lately

How have you been lately?  Been outside pretty often since the spring bug hit us with 65-degree weather.  I'm not too hot on spring/summer-like weather, as I am constantly searching for rain, but I love growth, and boy did plants grow this past week.  From shriveled leaves and spindly offshoots shot forth curvaceous, thick foliage: the sun-seeking nooks and crannies especially made for quite a show.  Colors quickly brightened and expanded, reaching for a greater height and depth...

And look, my Thumbelina Leigh Lavender is beginning to bud!

* * *

Sometimes I amaze myself at how frequently I derive pleasure from the natural world, including its stilling wordlessness.  As of late, mere thoughts have collected significance, leaving in its wake a profound impact that had spilled into days and weeks; and now months.  It is this sense of wide-eyed, thought-heavy wonder that I leave you until my next post...

The Gale Winds

A few nights ago, the heavens forcefully spilled forth, opened its mouth and bellowed.  Winds hit up to 50mph, so my husband says, and I heard their fury.  I heard whams and booms and slams; car alarms sounded in a haphazard succession.  The double-paned windows shook with an exasperated rattle, as if they were made of paper and not glass.  I watched slender-bodied trees bend for minutes on end, etching elongated, darkened shadows in the night sky.  When the lights flickered well after midnight, I began to worry--just ever so slightly--for the mad howl of wind coupled with strange, foreign sounds and complete darkness conjured up spooky thoughts; my imagination ran wild.  Under different circumstances, I would have considered the winds a magnificent natural occurrence.  Isn't it funny how loud things that go bump in the night can frighten one so?

As night made way for dusk, as day perilously broke, the winds mellowed into a consistent, strong breeze that lasted the entire day and rushed into the evening.  That morning, I took a quick peek outside, and all seemed normal--not a leaf, branch, or petal was visibly out of place.  Perhaps the newly planted seeds have blown asunder, but even that could not have been fully prevented anyways.

Reflecting back on this experience...I genuinely believe that humans have something to learn from nature, which is that the natural world moves forward.  Broken branch?  It'll be fine.  Gale force winds?  Bring it on.

Presently

Desk space, March 2013

Happy almost weekend, folks.  My mind currently feels like the above image of my current desk state: ideas looming and swelling in an abstract, jumbled mess.  The issue at-hand is that I need a clean space in order to work with my thoughts and ideas, but at the same time, I need to visually see the pieces laid out in their entirety before I can make any decisions.  And who says that the creative process isn't tough?  So this is what I've decided must be done: 1. Take a very deep breath and sift slowly through the odds and ends, 2. Sort out what exactly I am striving for (with my time--and likewise, my budget), and 3. Follow through with it.

Now, how's that for toughmindedness?

Future Tense

I am sitting here in front of the computer putting off the inevitable, waiting for the future-tense me to tap this present-tense me on the shoulder and tell me that everything will be easy peasy rather than the current topsy turvy.  This life is not easy, but others have it much more difficult than you, the wise future-tense laments, sprouting proverbs (I sure hope that she is wise...) as I stare blankly back at her.  My mind feels like an over-caffeinated, head-in-the-clouds marathon runner, one who has run miles upon miles and ends up in the same spot at the starting line every time, for she has lost track of where the race ends--lost in the process of it all.

As she takes one step back, and then another, the present-tense me begins to remember the reasons why the present matters, why and how the past informs the present.  The innumerable, complex connections spanning across time, running here and there--sometimes seemingly lost--comprises something greater than the sum of a life.  It is the measure of memories by the mind full; a consolatory homage to the past.  Frozen, permeable, forgotten...written down as a reminder to the living.   

The Tangible Material

How was your holiday season?  Hope it went well.  This Christmas season, I realized something.  As a person who isn't too into material things, I have too much--I can probably do without most of it.  It's not that I am not deeply appreciate and grateful for all of this stuff (some of which I had personally asked for), it's just that it all just sits there, making you happy one minute, while adding to your visual clutter the next, overwhelming the senses and exacerbating the underlying holiday migraine from too much busyness.

Maybe it's just an introvert thing.

I much prefer thoughts, but no one can ever give a complex thought as a gift.  Well, unless it is a quote printed onto something tangible.  If this was the case, it would have to be a darned good quote, indeed.

Lastly, a slice of humble pie:
An EmeraldCut shop review was recently featured in The Chakra Glow's lovely blog.  See the review here.  Thank you, Courtney, for the kindness!

If any of you would like to share your EmeraldCut item photos or reviews, I would love to hear from you.  Simply leave a post comment, or convo me.

State of Affairs

The national tragedy at Newtown, Connecticut today rattles me down to the very core, and I doubt that this acute feeling of grief will subside anytime soon.  I contemplated whether or not to blog about it today, with the painful emotions still vividly fresh and the tears still brimming in the eyes; images of terrified schoolchildren and crying parents still deeply ingrained in my mind.  Shock.  How does one justify the magnitude of loss this holiday season?  This extremely cowardly, inhuman act of domestic terrorism leaves such a bitter, bitter taste in my mouth.  I am left with the difficult task of trying to stay warm when both my mind and soul are so horrifically shaken that I take little notice of the chill, the numbness; the exacting pain.  My mind cannot fully process what has happened--a strange disconnect between the mind and body--thinking of Christmas for the families who have lost.

Spirit

Does it feel like the holidays to you?  As in Christmas is in less than two weeks?  Not really, at least here.  I was tempted to title this post "Bah Humbug," but it was already taken by this smart lady, and her post pretty much summed up the not-so-festive holiday feeling that I am currently experiencing--I couldn't have said it any better.

So here I am listening to Jagged Little Pill instead of the contemplative jams of the more mellow singer-songwriter variety, and I am certainly feeling fine.  (Christmas music is not my forte, anyhow.)

I spent six hours yesterday doing holiday stuff, and to tell you the truth, it was fun--especially since I purchased the majority of the gifts that I didn't make myself in early autumn; most from online sources.  That way, I was able to ease into the holiday season, and still enjoy the peppermint hot cocoa without absentmindedly burning my tongue.

This easing into the holidays got me thinking: the holidays is beyond giving the "right" gift (or not), and is also more than just spending time with family.  The entire point of the holidays, perhaps, is to learn about yourself, such as your strengths and weaknesses; your consummate burnout level in a time of potentially high crises.  One's dogged aversion or warm embrace of the season of giving takes on a whole new meaning when put into this context.  Realizing what makes you uncomfortable--or comfortable--about the holidays, and how these categorizations can change circumstantially, reveals to you the you of the moment disguised as (the lack of) holiday spirit.

Feign enthusiasm, I cannot--and I will no longer punish myself for it.  Conversely, if I happen to break out into a holiday jig, I will not punish myself for it, either.

The Revelation

I am almost there,
And the fear drives me
Insane.

Sullen procrastination
Fills my days;
Idiosyncracies abound,
And the anxiety swells--
Colors it all red,
With a little bit of gold
In between.

I like the gold,
The subtle beams of optimism
That billow through the fog-heavy sky--
Intuitively, I seek all that frightens
And intrigues me.

Gone Buggy

 

How has your week been?  On the EmeraldCut front, things have been going pretty well, all things considered.  In between becoming increasingly overwhelmed by all the political bantering on one hand, and the upcoming holiday season on the other, I have been left with very few devices with which to maintain my sanity.  For instance, I want to read a book, but my head has been entirely wrapped around: 1. My shop -- fretting to not avail about the marketing "plan" (there is no real plans, just a wealth of hopeful ideas), the holidays, and shop listing photographs and descriptions, and 2. All the wasteful, mailed political ads that arrive in our mailbox -- duplicates, the unintelligible jargon, the blame game, and all.  Although I agree that it is important to stay informed (and of course, vote), I cannot help but visualize the personal and political biases of politicians and special interest groups that fund/support or not fund/not support legislation.

Common good, where are you?  (I hear that you're the best bet here.)

My buggy-ness has either been a reflection of, or has rubbed off on, my oregano and thyme plants.  Have you ever had spider mites infest your indoor greenery?  Well, it appears that the small and dry whitish spots on the leaves on both of my herb plants are indicators that spider mites have been munching on and subsisting off of my plants for some time now.  

Do you want to know what is quite appalling about the size of spider mites?  According to Wikipedia, many, if not most, are invisible to the naked eye.  The one that I killed a few days ago was close to 3mm in size, orange-white legs and all. 

I need to relax a bit -- go and read/get lost in a book -- because spider mites, along with aphids, are common houseplant pests.

* * *

I am crossing my fingers that the extensive pruning job that I did on my oregano and thyme plants are not further detrimental to their health and growth.  They are now skeletal, stubby and protruding things, resembling stout deciduous trees in wintertime; what a sight.  It, embarrassingly enough, must be a trend -- yet, I do have some hope as my Thumbelina Leigh Lavender is sprouting some new buds this autumn.  Optimism, contrary to personal belief, is a dear, dear friend of mine.

Perfectionism is Hardly the Key

 The key to what, you might surely wonder...
Perfectionism is hardly the key to success--there, I (sadly) said it.  Today, in my daily Etsy search, I came across a well put-together shop, complete with stunning photographs, listing descriptions, a proliferation of sold items and rock-bottom prices, oh and may I add, a pretty shop banner.  I, with envy--the green-eyed monster of lore--actually considered, Wow, if only I could do that, then my shop would...

Then, the ever-present critic in me urged me to take a closer look--because something seemed slightly off in this veil of perfection--and that was when I saw it: the shop materials, the non-secure wire closures.  Not to mention the rock-bottom(!) pricing.  So, the veil has been lifted.

Truthfully though, the point of this post is not to shake my finger at others who are trying to make an honest dollar.  The point is that in terms of quality, there is a rather large discrepancy between the product materials/pricing and the marketing plan, as shown in this example.  And that genuinely bothers me (and probably only me).  But to each their own; good karma all around.

Back to the green-eyed monster...
After thinking about this subject for some time, and doing an embarrassing mental comparison of my shop to this particular one, I have come to a weighty conclusion: although I tend to err towards the side of perfectionism when it comes to materials, learning about stones and metals, creating designs that will hold up to gentle-to-moderate daily wear, etc., I must take it all in stride.  Because in the end, my shop is my shop...their shops are theirs.  I can't keep on attempting to measure the success of a shop by its perceived subtext; it's just downright critical.  Additionally, success is truly a subjective measuring stick, anyways. 

Perfectionism, then, is hardly the key to success--but it can be utilized as a tool for some long overdue contemplation.

Quiet Days Ahead

Hello, July.  June went by with a blink of an eye.  It's too bad because I was really enjoying the early summer (or was it late spring) gardening, in addition to the magical mood that June evokes (think summer hats, road trips, and ripening fruits).  Perhaps I am undoubtedly yearning for times gone by, a nostalgia worn on the sleeves of slower-paced days, where entire daylight hours were spent tending the garden, where technology did not guide the stilted, predictable movement of our days.  I look for continuity and organic movement, not staccato-like flitting back and forth from here to there.

Lately, I've been spending less time on the computer, which I have found allows me to just be.  It is in this quietness that I've been able to process my thoughts, and alleviate some of the dreaded anxiety--for I thrive in silence, in the composure of thoughts (solitary, not quite monastic).  Truly, this clear-headed mind state has fostered more creativity and thoughtfulness than I have ever imagined.  So needless to say, I am seeing where it leads me (hopefully to complete some long-term goals that I've set for this year).  Thanks for sticking with me: I am much obliged.

Huge Etsy shop sale tomorrow, 7/4!

The Sparks and the Ruts

Yes, those are my new little oregano plants sprouting up.  These little babies appear to be quite hardy, and were easily germinated--from the eleven tiny seeds planted, nine have sprouted.  In both form and function, these seedlings will be wholly useful.  Stare at them, I must, for they are so beautiful in their seedling state; when they are older, their dried leaves will be provide perfectly-palatable seasoning.*

Getting back on topic, the oregano plants are an example of what constitutes the current sparks in my creativity.  In other words, the seedlings' mere being allows me to engage, relax, and just be, myself.  Not actively thinking or anxiously fretting about creativity or work, I enjoy the moment and throw myself fully into it.  Sometimes the creative moment lasts the entire day, and those are the best of days spent and (at the same time) are the ones most longed for.  

In theory, it sounds like an easy task, this relaxing, engaging, and just being, while riding the creativity wave--but it isn't so for me.   Has anyone else ever experienced this difficulty (and almost guilt) in being able to relax?  This appalling anxiety?

The other part of my dichotomous blog post title, the "ruts," refers primarily to what the word means.  Not that "rut" is an entirely negative word, although its connotation may prove otherwise.  We need the ruts in life in order to have the sparks; without one, the other cannot be compared to, defined, or even physically, emotionally, or mentally felt.

Seemingly different from the sensory and synaptic junctures of the mind and body, our entire lives also continually run this one-or-the-other creative spark or rut course: sometimes one and sometimes the other, depending on circumstance and mindset.  From this, I believe that we learn greatly about oneself and about oneself in relation to others.  I leave this entry with an appropriate blog post from my political opposite, my hermit friend, GoHeyJudy--"She has a name.  She has a story."  Brilliant!

*Regarding planting seeds:
If you're interested, I used coco (coconut) coir rather than amended soil to grow my indoor plants because I am a germophobe.  So far, I am happy with the results of this media, since coco coir has great water retention and my plants are growing healthily.  The downside of this soilless mix is that it requires some care: nutrients need to be added on a weekly basis for optimal plant growth.

The Spring Time Blahs

Hello.  I've been feeling a little blah lately, doubting my writing capabilities in addition to wondering if the general economy will better itself anytime soon.  I have noticed that some people have found intensely fulfilling and/or well-paying jobs, while others are too emotionally downtrodden to muster up the courage to apply.  Personally, I know someone, a college graduate, who applied to 20+ job openings over the past few years, and had only a handful of companies reply back.

Flagrant frustration, I tell you--borderline insanity, which is why I believe that there must always be an intricate balance between the outside world and one's own inner sanctuary from the proverbial storm.  I find solace in a moralistic novel; some Rachael Yamagata, a stroll in the yard.

This spring, I have found myself gravitating towards the backyard garden to renew the spirit.  Instead of hunkering down near the computer to edit, I walk outside (probably a bad idea, but sometimes one needs a break!).  I steady myself by the manzanitas, one of which is growing a tiny apple; by the Thumbelina Leigh Lavender I breathe in deeply the aromatic calm of scent.  Instead of wracking my brain for the correct word or analysis, calmness overtakes me when I am in the thick of nature.  Overwhelmed, I am not.  And for that, I am grateful.

New Inspirations

I think that this is the longest span of time that I have not blogged in awhile, but sometimes I find the greatest, soul-fulfilling inspiration away from my computer.  It's actually quite strange: for me, being online is just so loud at times, although there is no actual face-to-face contact--nor is there actual auditory noise.  Maybe it's the jumble of words, which tend to morph and mesh together into unintelligible phrases when I am staring at the computer screen for too long.  Or perhaps it's the countless acts of self-promotion, the endless waves of it, that I see everywhere online (something that independent brick and mortars don't overtly take part in).

Yes, I know that this blog is a semi-shameless act of self-promotion.  Need some substantiating evidence?  See below:

I created a pair of earrings for my mother-in-law from her vintage necklace chain, composed of long, golden scrolls.  I bent the scrolls (her idea), and added anodized, golden-colored niobium ear wires (a naturally-recurring metal that is great for sensitive ears) and peridot stones.  The finished product just glows, so I had to document it!

Last week, my husband and I visited our local brick and mortar bead/stone store: he graciously paid for the stones of my choosing.  The stones were a unique assortment of colors, shapes, textures, and sizes...

...chalcedony nuggets and ovals, pyrite-esque garnet pears, carnelian rondelles, garnet coins, a large (and flashy) labradorite focal stone, and a few oldies but goodies--smooth iolite nuggets and a citrine one, as well.

*****

 Last night, after a very stressful day, my husband took me out to dinner: which was preceded by a drive by an awe-inspiring and moody, vast body of water.

So all of this leads me to think: this past week, however stressful it was (or actually, how panic attack-invoking I willed it to be), was also punctuated with numerous moments of soul-stirring stillness and innate beauty--if I paused my self-imposed freak out mode, and just looked around (a natural act, but one that requires some level of levelheadedness to fully enjoy).  I am thankful that I did just that.

Wishing you all a thoughtful, calming day.

Quiet | Susie Suh

I've been doing a lot of contemplating lately, nothing new, but there's a depth to this one that reminds me that I'm getting a wee bit older.   This thought process that I'm going through has been eased along by Susie Suh's EP, "The Bakman Tapes, Pt.2."  The EP contains a mere three songs, but oh, how those songs are like hot tea to my soul cannot be expressed in concrete words.  It's an emotion, like a calm wave passing by...minutes of not having to think at all.  I'm all for thinking, I encourage it--for it is important for us all to be critical thinkers and question the status quo, but sometimes the mere act of thinking can be so mentally and physically exhausting.  Especially for those (like me) who think all the time...about everything: no matter how important, trivial, and in-between the two poles.  This is a humbling, transitional moment.   

So quiet I will be for a little while, for this is the time to gather my thoughts and just be.

Reoccuring Thoughts

« I am fearful of never selling enough items in my shop to make up for the time spent learning and creating.
« If I create more collages, will they sell?
« Am I wasting time by not working a 9-to-5 job?
« How do I make a living off of my hobbies?
« I want to have a cause, where I'd donate a certain percentage from all sales to, but I--quite frankly--don't generate enough income from my shop to do so.  Makes me downright melancholy.
« I dislike marketing my shop/myself--I believe that the integrity and quality my work should speak for itself.
« What you put out there to the world will be returned back to you.

I obsessively ruminate over these thoughts, much like I do with every other imperious thought that permeates my mind.  I've found that only by reading, writing, and collage-making, do I truly lose that anxious edge.  A few books have consistently helped me through these cautious times.  I find that by reading a page, or even a passage, from these texts, my thoughts ease and all again is good.  Losing yourself for just a little while is a good read that you can identify with is rare, at least for me.  I love a lushly descriptive paragraph that makes you think critically beyond one's own microcosmic life, teaching us that there's a larger world out there that we're all connected to in some way, shape, or form.

I'm still trying to find my way in this world, and the meaning of my life.  Stumbling, yes.  But thinking, all the while.

« My books to live by:

Bone Black: Memories of Girlhood, by bell hooks

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte, illustrated by Dame Darcy

The Writing Life, by Annie Dillard