Milk in the Creek

Brings me to this

We immigrated from the United States to Canada when I four years old. It was the early 70’s. Born in Oregon and raised in BC. Not your traditional upbringing, ending up on the Northern tip of Vancouver Island into a very unconventional lifestyle. Like any child, I dreamed of what living differently would be like, fantasized of the bigger world outside of my own. Assuming everything was bigger and better out there.. little did I know at that time how true that really was.

My world was small, isolated, rural and limited. This didn’t have its effect on me until I was older. My teen age years and into adult hood.

In that moment, my little world as a child would be a all that is wonder..playing in the forest, floating on the ocean, watching wildlife.. not cartoons. It was the forest that gave me a back yard, it was the shoreline that gave me endless treasures to fill my pockets, it was the creek that kept our milk cold.

The skill and responsibility of pioneering , a choice my father made to raise his daughter away from all that was…well, what the rest of the world was doing.

I had no idea…If you only knew.

The girl that once was..
The Consequence

Resentment takes shape in the shape of what is me.

Fuck the shell that keeps me safe.

The fault falls on not being shown my wings and how to use them.

Only knowing the limited reach of small efforts, the very basic of efforts to make ends meet , a basic education , followed by a basic life.

There was only one person capable of nurturing this in me, but then again..maybe not ..not being around.

I know this now. That as a child and especially as a adolescent.. with the lack of exposure, the options, the awareness ..

If I wasn’t given this as a child, I couldn’t teach it to my own.

So there lies the pattern.

No tools, I knew no different.

No different then small town, small goals, small rewards and even smaller self expectations.

I have to be small to be safe.

If I had been shown there is more and the endless possibilities of my creativity as a child,

I could have been someone more.

I know deep in my heart that if those fears hadn’t developed, I would have ended up maybe in New York or California, a school of the arts.

Film, music and art. All of it.

It fills my veins everyday in one form or an other. I absolutely know I would have thrived in any Visual Creative Industry.

What a fucking waste.

I am completely responsible for my own life and choices.

I also put ownership on the adults that selfishly and unknowingly limited me growing up.

“you can be anything you want to be”, doesn’t cut it. Jeez, thanks for the talk. Bullshit !

Now 52 and living the basics.. a small feeling of accomplishment with a finished painting.

But it only reminds me of what should have been.

My longing for more can not be found in another person or place, a man or a child.

I’ve lived my entire adult life for others.

That stops now.

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