We are Meant to Shine...

"Light", paint markers, calligraphy, gouache on canson paper,  2012

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask, who am I to be brilliant and wonderful.  Actually, who are we not to be.  We are meant to shine.  We are born to make manifest the light of the spirit within us." (text adapted from Marianne Williamson quote)

I came across this quote in one of my many books that I pull out when I need some inspiration.  It struck me as odd, considering that I grew up with so many fears. Thunderstorms, earthquakes, boogeymen and of course, darkness have added to my unwarranted angst over the last 52 years that I've been on this Earth, not to mention that nagging notion of nuclear war and total armageddon.  But such is the life of your average everyday middle aged, neurotic, hormonally challenged Irish Catholic woman who's perpetually waiting for the next shoe to drop.  For as far back as I can remember, that's the way it's always been for me.  

In a way, fear has had a supporting role in my life story.  I was afraid to be confident because that would be seen as shining too much light on myself.  As the middle child of my family of nine, my father would jokingly call me the "oldest of the youngest and the youngest of the oldest".  I was the "short rest" my mother had between the older four, the surprise adorable twin girls, the only blue eyed blonde and finally, the baby.  Perhaps being lost in this group insanity was what made me the unimportant blip I always thought I was supposed to be.  As long as I was fed and clothed, who was I to expect anything more.  Blending in was what I learned to do best and I became comfortable with that.  I believed I was just bright enough, but not too bright.  Right in the middle.

I was good at some things, art being the most important thing.  Making art distracted me from scary thunderstorms, loneliness (surprising, given my place in a huge family), depression and general inability to relate to everyone else around me.  But my mom was an artist, too.  So in my eyes, that made me shine, just a little.  I was almost eleven when my baby sister came along.  She brought out a maternal instinct in me, which meant that I found something else I could be good at.  I learned that, though I wasn't very special on my own, I could brighten another life.  As long as I could be a light for others I was content.  Then, when I married my sparkly new husband and became pregnant with the first of my daughters I felt confident.  I had a way to shine as a real mother, and shine I did.  My two girls became my life and my art took a back seat.  


The girls were, and still are, my brightest light.  However now they are young women and no longer need my driving, cooking and grooming skills.  They shine on their own, and though I bask in the wonder of it, I can feel myself growing dimmer, more afraid again of my own ability to shine in a new way, not just a mom, but as the artist I was born to be.  It's scary to think that I can learn to glow with love of myself after all these 52 years (I have to remind myself with that short-term memory loss thing that comes with the age). 


There's a saying that goes, "you can't teach an old dog new tricks." Well I've taught myself some fancy tricks like pretending to be invisible, or rolling over so that the spotlight misses me.  However, it's become clear that they just don't work anymore.  It's time for me to defy that old wive's tale and shed some more light on someone who needs a little extra shine... that's me.  Who knows, maybe I'll become the woman worthy of my given name.  Claire, french meaning: clear, bright and famous.  Well, two out of three would be nice.


Happy Mother's Day, and may you shine as well.


Thanks for looking,


Claire


Oh, and if you like what you see, check out my etsy shop.
http://www.etsy.com/shop/clairegriffin164