My inner self, exposed

Recently I have picked up an old habit that I had fallen out of. I have started to, once again, draw.

I grew up in a family so gifted in art that I always felt somewhat overshadowed by everyone else. My eldest sister was especially gifted. She could breathe life and beauty into anything she drew, her talent was breathtaking. I have a pencil drawing hanging on my wall that she completed a month or so before her death. I will always treasure it.

When we were little, the three of us (my two sisters and I – I was the youngest) would hole up in our bedroom with paper and pencils, erasers and we would spend an afternoon drawing. Kathy's pictures were always the best – she'd draw people, animals, horses – such detail. You could see each hair on a head… each fold of cloth, or glossy fur that glinted at you from the page. What I laboriously struggled to learn, she was gifted with naturally. I would watch what she would draw and finally hand my paper over. "Would you draw this for me?" I would ask her and she'd look over at me, lifting an eyebrow. "If you don't do this yourself, you will never learn!" she'd say sternly, but there must have been a wistful longing in my expression because she'd finally relent, take the paper and draw exactly what I had in mind.

Truth is, I can draw and fairly well. I didn't realize it then. It always takes a long time to sink in that I am good at something. For now, I do my best to draw several times a week, even if it is only for a matter of a few minutes. Every time I touch a pencil to the paper I learn. Every time I create something, it becomes more clear how to do so.

Yesterday I finished a drawing I'd been working on for a few days. I added the last shading, the last curve of shadow and sat back, satisfied. I signed my name and dated it – something I rarely do, but which says hey… I think this is ok.

Today I looked it over again and saw things I could change – for a moment I picked up my pencil and eraser, poised delicately over my drawing. A little mistake here could be fixed with a swipe of my eraser… that errant shadow could be fixed with one more caress of my pencil.

Instead I sat back and let the imperfections stay. I fought the urge to correct the mistakes because despite the fact they existed, the picture remained quite beautiful. I was finished.

Relationships can be a lot like a drawing. You pour so much of yourself into them, so much color and vibrancy, so much LIFE. You spend so much time learning about each other, sharing, laughing, loving.

However, relationships, like my drawing, can come to an end. I find myself looking at the relationship, eraser at the ready, pencil poised to correct, when sometimes it is best to let my signature dry… and allow it to fade to memory.

"I don't want to be a memory…"

There is no shame in being remembered. It shows that you at least played an important role in someone's life at one time...