Art Supplies for the End Game

Surrounded by my unexpectedly expensive supplies. Apparently, adventures are costly.

I'm looking toward the end of the race.  No, I'm not sick or sinking or depressed. Quite the opposite. I'm happier now than I have ever been, even in childhood, which was an anxious affair.

Suddenly, I can see my demise as a rushing, real date (a wall that I'm hurtling toward, relentlessly) and my choices are coming into sharper focus.

Do I want to continue living as I have, making the same mistakes, longing for whatever it is I don't have and taking all my blessings for granted? Seems silly. Since I am inevitably getting older, I might as well strive for wiser.

My new mantra is a (probably paraphrased) quote from Einstein:

"The definition of insanity is doing the same things over and over, and expecting different results."

Here is my confession (and it's embarrassing): For several decades, I've felt that it is my duty to participate in local and regional politics. As a journalist for the Eastern Shore News and Virginian-Pilot, I was paid for it. As a town Planning Commissioner I was sworn to it. As a citizen, I felt that I had been given the training, time and guts to stand against injustice (or simply bad planning) in and around my home in Cape Charles.

I made a lot of noise. I believed I was doing the "right thing." But the uproar I helped to create--year after year--made my life an acid bath, and didn't seem to help the community. If it had been effective, if the youth and elderly actually got a community center; if the town council actually voted for a sensible density on the historic waterfront; if anyone else opposed strip development of the highway that could destroy our downtown....if anything positive came from all that effort, then I would continue.

But no. I just added to the shitstorm of divisive rhetoric that tears our community into bleeding shreds. I'm one of many, but they can write their own confessions.

Effectiveness is the defining attribute for positive action. Does it work? In my case, the answer is no. My efforts have been wasted, at best, and at worst, destructive. It's time for a change.

The first essential change is to open my eyes and see what is ACTUALLY happening. Did DiCanio and Kirkwood turn the Eastern Shore into a bedroom community? No. Did Tavi build the 70-odd units per acre that the town council said he could build on the historic waterfront? No. Did Webtide succeed in its efforts to get a "royalty fee" for pumping water from the public aquifer? No.

What actually HAPPENS in this tiny community seems to be controlled by forces outside of our control. The economy crashes. The developer goes bankrupt. The grant application is rejected. And none of it has anything to do with me, or what I think I'm doing.

I'm appalled by my arrogance. I actually thought it was my DUTY to participate--that my participation was required.  HAHAHAHAHA. The joke's on me. Which is fine. I like a good joke.

So, what do I do with the rest of my time? I like silversmithing, and making beachglass jewelry. But I'm gradually losing the physical requirements of the job. My hands are shaking. I can't see very well.  I'm starting to cut and burn my hands on a regular basis. My fingers hurt from pressing silver into shape. It's beginning to look like a short-term activity.

So I need a new outlet.

In the past I have taken a few painting lessons. I like to write poems and hide them under the paint, so there's a secret message. I'm always happy when I'm painting. So I think that's what I'll do. On Thursday I have my first private lesson with Carole Boggeman-Pierson, a famous and fabulous artist in our community. Maybe by the time I can't make jewelry anymore, I'll have learned how to paint!

I'll call it my Anchor Leg Effort. End Game.