Have you found that extra something in you that makes you special? I am sure we all have it… some of us don’t know what it is and some of us know but it’s buried so deep that we don’t know how to bring it to the surface. I mean there are a lot of obstacles along the way right? Included in there is self-doubt, greater obligations, curveballs thrown by life, by family, by circumstances. Just a plethora of irritants in our way from bringing out that which sets us apart.
I was born in the midst of a lot of people. Really, my mother has seven children, my father has seven, and I am the only one they share. We are not all back to back and tend to be gappier then most siblings when it comes to the number of years in between us. By the time I graced this earth most of my siblings already had children and one of them even had grandchildren! All this to bring forward that some of these relationships were closer to those of uncles and aunts than they were to the types shared by siblings.
I have always loved to read, learning very young that adults would smile bigger and think that I was somehow “better” because of my advanced reading. All these different worlds that the mind could come up with that didn’t include chores, younger siblings or responsibilities. At first, reading was my thing. Soon I would begin to play with words. When I found that I could tickle my own eardrum and pull on my own heartstrings with alliterations and assonances just seeming to find their own place in my thoughts and in the worlds that I created — that was magical! Not big league, run and tell anyone magical, just secretive, in my room, behind closed doors magical.
We didn’t journey to a lot of places when I was younger and the vast majority of my childhood life was spent at home. My two younger sister’s and I often, as most kids did, had to find a way to entertain ourselves. I loved playing with Barbies. I would pull my sisters and my niece, who spent who spent so much time with us she was just like another sister, into the laundry room that doubled as a playroom. We would create whole storylines, the take charge person inside of me often telling them what to say or do next. No, I was not bossy with it if you ask me, but I am sure they would have a different response to that question. Often our stories would go on for days leaving the dolls frozen in space as we were called away to do dishes, or eat, or sleep.
As punishment my mother would forbid me from playing barbies and often times take away my choice of books as well. I was allowed to read our encyclepedia set but I better not think of getting a new book from the library. This of course was only a problem during the summer because there was no way I was skipping library at school. Some days I was convinced I was Nancy Drew’s sidekick, solving mysteries and living life with her. I always felt a sadness when the series I was reading came to the last book and I was left to wait or find another series to switch to.
In these absences of Barbie’s and made up worlds I began to write. I could fill a page fast with my thoughts switching from fiction to real life. My real life always presented itself in a sing-song fashion in-between the lines. I literally loved words! At one of our family bar-b-que’s I wrote a poem, I have no idea today what it was about. I recited it to my oldest brother, he is about twenty years older than me, and when I was finished he praised me thoroughly and asked to keep my poem. I am sure he didn’t know it at the time, how could either of us really know, but he had planted a seed. The message he sent was clear, “You are important and what you have to say is important.” As a child you looked at adults as being all-knowing, it would be a few years before I found out the truth which was that you don’t cross over into perfection at midnight on your 18th birthday. When an adult shows interest it does something special to the creativity of a child. It challenges them to stretch it, to keep that stream of positivity going.
That became my something special. To have adults say they could not do something that they then commended me for, something that came so organically for me told me that this was something to cherish. It was small but it was special, unique. That was my extraordinary pebble. I was made up of a lot of things which would continue to grow. I would become a great daughter, a devoted wife, a mother with great intentions and goals for her children and dare I say that I may become a great writer as well? So many of these traits seemed to take shape on their own. I was there to become a mother and wife but they weren’t something I was working towards. They just kind of happened. Because those roles are important towards me I had to work harder to become better versions of the former, redefining what great was every day. But what about my something special? That something that was always in me that could make me feel like that accomplished kid on a pedestal again, what about that?
My quest for extraordinary pebbles is about reclaiming that early dream, redefining what a great story is to me or what it means to me to be a great author. But I am a whole person with other dreams, goals and responsibilities now too. I don’t go brick by brick because sometimes my contributions towards my end game seem small but we know that small steps could lead towards big things so pebble by pebble I am on my way to incorporate writing into the many hats that I love and wear most. Motherhood. Partnership in marriage. Cultivating creativity and getting back to greatness. This is my quest for extraordinary pebbles.
2:44pm
12/25/18 2:45 PM
D's Quest for Extraordinary Pebbles 