Vulnerable

I am in my office/summerhouse/shed with a beautiful lady that I have known and not known for over half my life. Someone who has been a friend of a friend or in the same room but not close since I was a teenager. Now I am crying a lot and talking about unproductive sludge while smearing a line of black green paint across a canvas. She asks me what can help, I reply gold and we make the sludge as pretty as it can be, then we paint.

After pondering this sequence of events for a few days I know that the sludge is how I experience my own vulnerability, I despise it, I see it as weak, good for nothing, slimy, unproductive, lazy, ugly and all of the things that I dislike in the world. And so, of course over the last 2 days the universe has given me a lesson in the vulnerable; fron a very honest conversation with my Mum about acceptance of all parts of yourself to reading a harrowing poem she presented me with that I wrote when I was 9. I have run with my 12 year old son and watched him canter off in to the distance while I spluttered and wheezed, I have asked for help through snotty tears.

Today I answered the call of a friend having a panic attack, unlike my own vulnerability I found her ability to reach out to me in that particular moment strong and inspiring. We talked, we decided that though she would die one day, it hopefully won’t be this day and certainly won’t be from this. I felt grateful to be given the opportunity to sit with her in that moment. We reflected on the millions of people sat alone  seeking comfort from chat GPT and how lucky we are to not be one of them. 

I am finding my creativity again and with it the absolute certainty that it is necessary to be vulnerable to be creative, to be honest, to be authentic, the three things that I value most in the world. So there is the irony, the thing that I find most disgusting in my self may be the path to the things that I find most beautiful in my life.

Everyday is a school day and I am still learning and eternally grateful for all of it.