My Creative Juices Have Terrible Timing

I have discovered something about myself… apparently my creativity clocks in for the night shift. Around 10:00 p.m. my brain suddenly decides, “You know what sounds like a great idea? Let’s write a blog, or romance novel! We can make a birthday card, start a Christmas project, reorganize the craft room, tune the violin, and maybe clean out the garage while we’re at it.”

Really? NOW?

The problem is that grown-up responsibilities expect me to be awake tomorrow morning. And if I stay up following every brilliant little idea that pops into my head, tomorrow night’s creative genius is going to be replaced by a woman asleep on the couch by 8:30. This system is not sustainable. My brain has a waiting list. Daytime Raven says, “You should probably get some rest.”  Nighttime Raven says, “Sleep is temporary. Inspiration is forever.”

Honestly, I wish my creativity would punch a time clock and show up around 10:00 in the morning instead. We’d get so much done! But no… apparently my imagination is part vampire.

So if you see me wandering around tomorrow looking a little tired, just know it’s because my brain spent half the night beginning seventeen crafts that my body now has to figure out how to finish.

Creative people… please tell me I’m not the only one whose best ideas arrive precisely when common sense has already gone to bed.

I Planned for Getting Older, Not Retirement

 Retirement is weird.

You spend your whole working life thinking, "One day I'll have all this free time." Then one day you wake up and realize... nobody gave you any instructions on what you're supposed to do with it. Don't get me wrong. I have plenty to do. I just haven't figured out what my "next thing" is yet.

What I do know is that I want to build one more house. I built this one. I even designed it. At the time, I thought I was planning for getting older. I made the doorways a little wider and tried to think ahead.What I didn't plan for was retirement.

I didn't think about having a place where my grandkids could spread out their toys while I spread out my craft supplies. I didn't think about wanting a room where glitter explosions wouldn't have to be cleaned up before dinner. I didn't think about one side of the house being loud with kids laughing, playing games, or staying up way too late while the other side stayed quiet enough that Dennis and I could pretend we were going to bed early.

Apparently, I planned for aging. I forgot to plan for living.

So now my brain spends entirely too much time designing a house we haven't even built yet. I know where the craft room goes. I know where the grandkids will play. I know where the coffee pot belongs because, let's be honest, that's important information.

I've probably built this house seventeen times in my head already. The funny thing is, I think I want this house now more than I did when I was still working. Maybe it's because I finally have the time to enjoy it.

Or maybe retirement gives your brain entirely too much free time. If I'm not designing a house in my head, I'm wondering why my shoulder hurts, convincing myself I have some rare disease Google discovered at 2:00 a.m., or trying to remember why I walked into the laundry room in the first place.

Honestly, building a house sounds like the healthiest hobby I've come up with so far. Because the longer I wait, the more my current house reminds me of all the things I wish I'd thought of 10 years ago.

 

Fine. I Guess We’re Just Eating Cookies.

My husband and I were watching the news today, and apparently the safest thing to consume is… anxiety.

Every story was another warning. There are viruses going around. Don’t eat this fruit. Wash those vegetables. Peel them. No, boil them. 

Rice? Oh, rice has arsenic. But don’t worry—you can buy a different kind of rice. Then boil it, dump the water, boil it again in fresh water, say a prayer, and maybe you’ll survive dinner.

At some point I looked at Dennis and said, “I think we’re just going to start eating cookies for every meal.” He didn’t even hesitate. “I could do that.” Finally. A man with solutions. Then I remembered a conversation I had with my daughter earlier today about cookies. Specifically, the kind of people who put raisins in cookies. Those people are not to be trusted. Listen… if it looks like a chocolate chip, it had better BE a chocolate chip. Don’t let me bite into what I thought was happiness only to discover betrayal wrapped in a raisin. And while we’re making requests… keep the oatmeal out too. I don’t need healthy cookies. If I wanted healthy, I’d still be standing over my sink washing, peeling, boiling, draining, and re-boiling my dinner. Give me the good stuff. White sugar. Brown sugar. Chocolate chips. Sugar, sugar, and a little more sugar.

At this point, cookies seem like less work than making rice.

Not Everyone Is Going to Like Me

I finally realized something that has brought me a lot of peace: I am not responsible for making other people happy. That’s a setup for failure every single time. Someone will always be disappointed, offended, disagree with you, or think you should be living your life differently.

I’m not going to lose sleep because someone gets mad that I’m a Republican, a Democrat, an Independent, or anything else. My beliefs are mine. Yours are yours. We all have the right to think differently, and your approval of my opinions means absolutely nothing to me because I never asked for it in the first place.

And friendships? I value real ones. But if a friendship requires me to walk on eggshells, hide my opinions, apologize for who I am, or constantly worry about upsetting someone, then it’s not much of a friendship anyway.

I’ve learned that peace is more valuable than approval. I’d rather be authentically myself and have a few genuine people around me than spend my life performing for an audience that can walk away at any time.

I’m going to be kind. I’m going to be respectful. But I’m also going to be myself. And if that makes someone angry enough to leave, I’ll hold the door open for them.

Because I’m not living my life to make anyone else happy. I’m finally living it to make peace with myself.