or well, aging. It seems the older I get the more random I am becoming. I have all sorts of complex thoughts that get tangled in the journey to my mouth. Tongue tied and stupefied.
Sometimes I’m articulating fine, sharing all sorts of wisdom or proposing questions of the deepest quality when I stop mid-sentence not sure how to finish. Other times I take a gander around at those listening to me and they share confused, perplexed and uncomfortable expressions. Those are the times I want to jump out of my brain, sort the thoughts into boxes then return to myself, opening and revealing the treasures in each box one at a time.
This quality is amplified if I’m the least bit sleepy. . . and it certainly doesn’t help that my life is full of constant interruptions of the small child variety. . .nevertheless, I find I’m much better with the ability to edit-pause-edit-think like with typing or drawing than with the pressures of improvisation.
I take comfort in knowing my identity isn’t secured by words well spoken, but by the grace I’ve been given, even as I age.
**Print by Shannon Johnson, a young artist from Northfield, called Tongue Tied. Her prints play off rethinking common phrases, something I’m always exploring as well. I love the incorporation of wood.