Finding Normal

I struggle with getting personal with others. A feeling I'm sure many, many people can relate to. And it doesn't really matter if it's with someone I have known my whole life, or with someone I'm meeting for the first time - I just struggle to get personal. Ever since my 31st birthday this past October, I've come to the conclusion that it's because of two primary reasons:

Reason #1: I'm a "listener" by nature.

I actually enjoy listening to people's stories as much as I enjoy telling my own. Mainly because 'listening' has typically always been the best way for me to care for others; being able to spill your guts, about any kind of problem, to someone who clearly hears you - and respects what you're feeling - well, that's just one of the best forms of catharsis in the world! I always liked that I could give that to others - especially when I was younger, and simply too ill-equipped to do much else. But then, of course, there's still the second reason, and this is the one I cannot stress enough...

Reason #2: I'm really weird.

No, really. That's it - and I'm not ashamed to admit it!

Though, don't get me wrong, it took me a long time to embrace this fact about myself. Kids can be mean, no matter the era, to both each other and to themselves especially. But the thing that makes me 'weird' right now, in this moment, actually has very little to do with my personality and odd little quirks. It has more to do with some pretty... uncomfortable drama I have to deal with in my life.

For some quick context: my dad, whom I was very close to, died a year ago this month. This was my first year with him in my life; my family's first year without one of the two people who helped to build it in the first place. The first year without a role model for my brothers, though they are fully-grown (but never the wiser). The first year my mother had to be "on her own" for the very first time in forty years. Ultimately it was a "year of firsts" for each of us - and definitely not in the best of ways.

Now, there's probably a few things you can guess by now and where I'm going with this: It's been a very suck-y year; I must still be in a very strange head-space; and I've probably poured a lot of time and energy into a creative project or two. Well, you would not be wrong; guilty as charged on all counts!

... Except one: it has most definitely been more than just two projects. (Even in grieving I've discovered I am a shameless overachiever)

All joking aside, I think the reason I've poured so much energy into my creative outlets is because it's something I can control; I can put pen to paper to write out a story, or paint to canvas to create something beautiful, or stitch old fabrics together to make something new. What's more it gives me an opportunity to share those thoughts and feelings in a more meaningful way (because, frankly, sometimes even I can't make heads or tails of them).

A creative project - in any form - is the closet I feel to being "normal" again, especially after such a heavy blow. And I think that's one of the few things no one really tells you about grieving: when the worst of the pain is finally gone, you have to figure out what "normal" means again.

It's a deeply personal question for everyone, so, naturally, everyone will have a completely unique answer to that question. But to me, "normal" simply means "peace." Being at peace with myself, with my situations, with life in general - all the good, bad, and completely indifferent.

At this moment in time, I feel surprisingly close to that new sense of normal, despite it only being a year out since that question first tested me. Maybe it' because it's been a year now that I feel so close to my new normal, I don't know... like I said it's a very personal experience (there are no right or wrong answers).

So, until I find my "normal," I'm just going to write. Aside from listening, it's the only other way I know how to get personal.