Coming into midlife has been challenging for me. I struggle with relinquishing who I was as a young adult, and I balk at moving into a future that is frighteningly wide open. I am emerging from my middle age metamorphic cocoon still not knowing what type of butterfly I am. What do I want to do with my life – the second half? The excitement of being able to reinvent myself is counterbalanced by the lonely glare of a blank slate framed by adult fear and indecision. I could reinvent myself…but as what? There are so many vocational options, unlimited activities to try, dozens of interesting crafts calling my name, and many facets of my personality to explore. I feel like a teenager again. Yet unlike a girl of 18, I am a “mature” woman with a lot less time to waste. My second half has an expiration date that was absent in my first half. I’d like to get to the heart of the matter soon and spend those precious second-half days doing things that make me truly happy; I want to grow back into the soul of the child I was meant to be.
There is something very overwhelming about having too many options. Which one of those numerous potential new activities and creative pursuits is “the one”? In order to discover my lost self, I had to take a trip back in time to my crafting roots. Was there an art or craft that always captured my heart? I began to remember the things I asked for as a child: crayons, books, a typewriter, paper, pencils, thread, fabric, a camera, more paper, more crayons, yet more books...some items were very prominent in my recollections. These key objects represented activities that brought me joy at an early age, and are interests to which I am drawn once again.
Looking back, I always liked to play with color and texture. I can remember the pleasure of opening a fresh
box of Crayola crayons with their rainbow of colors to delight the eye. One Christmas I received an enormous box of crayons, well over a hundred, packed neatly in a large, flat box along with a crayon sharpener and a few other art supplies. I was in heaven! Then there was the holiday which brought a “learn to draw” set which came with a pressed board drawing surface, a book on how to draw horses (my passion at the time), a sketch book, a box of charcoals, and some professional pencils. I felt like an artist. When I was older, my mother bought me a “real” set of Prismacolor colored pencils and a small palette of Grumbacher watercolors. We even went to an honest-to-goodness art store to purchase them. I spent hours drawing, mostly horses and other animals, but I also designed clothes and imagined they would be in pattern books or fashion magazines some day. Many of those colored pencils were worn down to little stubs in no time, but I never had the heart to throw them away.
Does anyone remember collecting S&H Green Stamps years ago? My mother would get these stamps when she made purchases at the grocery store; when you saved enough stamps and pasted them in a little paperback book, you could get your choice 
of items from a catalog. After weeks of squirreling away and attaching those little green tickets (I can still taste the stamp glue!), I was able to make my dream purchase: my first camera. I was still in elementary school at the time so this was very exciting. My choice was a Spartus Vanguard, made by Herold Products. It took col
or or black-and-white photographs with 127 film and it had a bulbous flash set in a silver-lined cup that looked like a small radar dish. It seems so antiquated now, but at the time it was my window on the world; it was a way to capture the beauty of nature or to forever frame a moment in time. I wanted my photos to be like the ones in National Geographic magazine, which came every month like clockwork in my parents’ mail. The magazine’s pictures seemed perfectly composed, romantic and mysterious. Every one told a wordless story about people and places that existed in a world different from my own. Of course, of the hundreds of pictures I took with that boxy camera, only a few turned out even remotely like the magazine shots, but I kept trying.
And let’s not forget the world of crafting. During my younger days I tried a lot of different things from se
wing to knitting to embroidery. In middle school I learned to follow a pattern to make clothes, and I sewed some simple decorating items for my room. Like a lot of other little girls I made clothes and jewelry for my Barbie dolls, and I created jewelry for myself from beads and buttons. (Have you ever seen beads made from drops of Elmer’s glue?!) One of my favorite collections that I still have today is a mixture of plastic beads 
that I keep in an old, blue and white, metal cookie tin. One day my family stopped at a country store not far from a relative’s house. In one room of the store was a large, wooden whiskey barrel filled with beads. For a small amount one could purchase a bag of beads in a random assortment of sizes and hues. I remember dipping my hands deep into that cornucopia of color and wiggling my fingers through the round bits of plastic as if I had discovered a pirate’s chest filled with gold coins.
But the most enduring of my childhood passions grew from my love of books, which were my constant childhood companions. Like photographs, books could transport me into foreign places and let me tag along on adventures that could only take place in my imagination. Words were enticing and playful, beautiful and magical. They had power and yet they could be shaped into landscapes, actions and images. Words could communicate on paper what a shy kid like me couldn't verbalize. I loved those words and I wanted to write them too. So sometime when I was about 8, I asked my parents for a way to write faster than I could by hand. My wish was granted in the form of a brown, plastic typewriter that had cream-toned keys. I banged on that typewriter for hours; my parents got their money’s worth from that purchase! Eventually I graduated to a more grown-up, metal, Smith-Corona and, sadly, the poor little plastic typewriter went the way of all well-used toys. However, it will always have a fond place in my heart.
Vintage Hermes 3000 typewriter I purchased at a yard sale brings back memories of my childhood writing friend.
So, as we grow older, do we grow back into the creative people we used to be; the people we were born to be? If we are lucky, I think the answer is yes. Though many of my interests popped up here and there during my 20’s and 30’s, I am now beginning to return to my roots with more fervor in my midlife rediscovery of drawing, needlework, sewing, photography, beading, and, through the wonders of technology, writing. Blogging is undoubtedly an addictive outlet for word-lovers! This emerging butterfly might have finally found her wings.
I asked friends in my Etsy BBEST team (Boomer and Beyond Etsy Street Team) to look back at what arts and crafts they were drawn to as children. Did they carry these interests into adulthood or do they find themselves returning to these parts of their earlier selves? Their insightful and interesting answers will be posted tomorrow!
Labels: art, blogging, crafting, creativity, writing
Some days start off the same old way, and then a few start off with very pleasant surprises. This morning I was greeted with a little bit of blog love in the form of a nomination for the award pictured here, "Brillante Weblog-Primo 2008". My wonderful BBEST (Boomers and Beyond Etsy Street Team) team mate and fellow blogger Pamela of Magdalene Jewels has included my blog in her list of seven favorite artisan blogs. Pam's great blog and the original nomination can be read at http://magdalenejewelspjk.blogspot.com
