Looked Over

Maybe it was just my sense of common decency. Or maybe it was simply that he said "we love your work and would love to work with you on this project." Either way, I assumed we'd be working together. I assumed, after he showed me a photo of what they were going for - which I assured that I could offer - that I'd be a part of the going. That within months, my phone would ring or an e-mail would come through and we would collaborate.

But we didn't. And today, it bothers me. It bothers me more than I'm willing to admit anywhere but here, in Facebook chat with my best friend, and in a long rambling conversation with my husband on our couch... pre-emptively, in fact. That I saw this coming, because I - whether I like it or not - am incredibly good at math and logic. That mixed with my intuition is a recipe for figuring-things-out-before-they-come-though-you-hope-they-don't-come-true.

I can't decide, however, what bothers me most. Is it the being looked over? Or how about the who was looked at in my stead? Because like it or not, there is that whole piece of the equation. The part that makes it messier and far more damaging than something like this would necessitate. It could have been worse, as my dear bff so appropriately pointed out. But it also could have been better. It could have been someone that made sense given the... givens.

But those are my givens. My opinions. My expectations. And no one in the world owes me a living up to anything I build for them. It is their lives, their choices, and my art and business are no worse for the wear.

A Touch of Timelessness

Someone once told me, when I was the ripe old age of eight, that the older you get, the quicker time goes by. They should have saved their breath. How could I, in the endless days of my youth, even begin to understand what that meant? Especially when the adage of the time was that time flies when you're having fun and most of the adults I knew didn't appear to be having very much of that. They might as well have told me that I wasn't, in fact, going to live forever. When you're a kid, both facts (because I would certainly now call the first point a fact) are equally unbelievable.

As a child, it seemed nothing ever came fast enough, especially when I was anticipating some particular day or event, such as my birthday or the first day of school. In the same token, the things I most loathed or dreaded took for...ev...er (in the words of one of my favorite childhood movies). Waiting in line at the grocery store with my mom was a drag and don't even get me started about the car trips. We all know what those are like for kids.

Even now, when I find myself inadvertently passing on the wisdom of the ages to the kids I know, I laugh because I see that look in their eyes. In that moment, I know what they're thinking. It's kind of reminiscent to yeah right, Kristine. But I can't blame them, certainly. I know the look so well, not only because I am sure I gave it once myself but because every now and again, I sense that I still believe it.

Sure, I know that time goes by quicker the older you get because perspective changes and life gets busier. We quicken the pace of our lives to the speed set by a wheel in motion - one otherwise known as our world. We, as sanctified adults, join what is so aptly described as the "rat race" of life. And not to say the pursuit is always worthless, because it sometimes isn't. But when we lose our way in the endless chantings of "faster, bigger, better, more, now," I daresay we have lost much more than our way.

The days I most recognize that defiant and unbelieving look that children give at the prospect of getting old and losing time is when I am reminded to slow down and to enjoy moments. This is the art of adulthood, I believe, because here we have this gift of the very same twenty-four hours we were offered as children, and yet we are much more in control and capable of doing with it what we should and making all of it count. Unfortunately, not too many of us have mastered this art.

But I would very much like to. And I think it involves a belief that what counts is not always just doing the things that uphold the standards of our society, like working ourselves into the ground and living in isolation. I think that days filled with other-ness are sometimes the most endless. When we serve, when we commune, and even when we choose the type of solitude that fills, rather than depletes our lives - these moments, I think, are what matter and what add a touch timelessness to the day.

And I don't know about you, but I could use a touch of timelessness.