I seem to be more introspective than usual. Reflective, pensive and whatever other words indicate looking inward in a contemplative way.
Maybe I'm just noticing my emotions even more clearly during this time of Covid and of Russia's war to eliminate Ukraine.
Maybe it's because I have a venue to share my thoughts through this blog.
As I've written on Facebook, I have had a book of my Letter Poems printed. Forty copies, which I believe is a real show of bravery.
Poems are still making themselves known to me...my job is simply to paste down the letters.
In these new poems the letters are not bold and colourful, but rather smaller black letters cut from magazines and their background colours are muted shades of cream. I have found out that to scan these more subtle poems, a more sophisticated scanning process is necessary, and involves an increased cost per page.
Upon learning this, I have gone into a spiral of doubt. "This is too expensive." "I can't justify paying this much per book."
Read.."..my work is not worthy of these prices." "The poems aren't good enough to spend this amount of money on them." "Maybe people bought my Letter Poems book simply because they are my friends".
Finally, I saw the absurdness of my story-line: the fact that I've generously donated money to organizations and family members and yet couldn't support my own self in this very tiny way!
It wasn't the small monetary increase that was the issue...it was my worthiness.
And then two things happened on Saturday that were integrally connected to my circling around worthiness.
I went to Cobbs to buy cinnamon buns to bring to a friend's place later in the morning. The woman serving me, while shifting the position of her mask, told me she was so very tired of "all of this". A conversation followed as I told her that I too was struggling and found this was the hardest time since the beginning of restrictions. Also, that friends of mine found this too.
As I prepared to leave, she asked if I liked blueberries. When I answered that I did, she slipped a blueberry scone into a little bag and handed it to me.
Later that day I went to Canadian Tire to buy some plastic containers to hold my millions of cut-out letters.
As if by magic, a sales person there began talking to me. She said that she has a friend in Kyiv and that she was very worried about her. She continued that the woman's husband was very ill so that they couldn't possibly drive out of the city. She talked about how they were texting and that these messages were a way to hang on to each other.
Before returning to work, she thanked me for listening and for caring.
I saw that I was valued by these two women and that it was past time for me to realize my own worth.
By the way, I am continuing to write and create collages for my next book!