MY LYRICAL JOURNEY
How I painted my heart wide open.
Paula Watters Jones
My Lyrical Journey: How I Painted My Heart Wide Open
© 2014 Paula Watters Jones
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-2311-1
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photo-copying, recording, or otherwise without written permission of the Publisher.
Editing: Carolyne Ruck, Help-U-Write.com
Cover Design and Interior Formatting: OneVoiceCan.com
Cover Art: Paula Watters Jones
One Voice Publishing
Dedication
To my children, Courtney and Kit and
my grandson Ezra . . .
to show them that no dream
is too big to achieve;
And . . . to me . . .
for having the courage to find myself.
Acknowledgments
I'm not even sure where to begin to start thanking people. First of all, many thanks to my friends . . . Jeannine, Brooke, Joan and Bethel . . . and to everyone who encouraged me to write this. You all know who you are. Without your encouragement, phone calls, emails, texts AND talking me off “the ledge,” I would not have even considered writing. My friends . . . I adore all of you.
To Michelle Radomski, deepest appreciation for coming into my life at just the perfect moment and being my greatest cheerleader. My God woman . . . you rock!!!
To my family who have been both trepidatious about my decisions and also extremely supportive when they saw my determination. I love you all so much.
To my children, Courtney and Kit . . . who have always loved me, no matter how crazy I sounded or acted. You are my strength and my reason for doing what I am doing.
To all of the people who have come in AND out of my life . . . for reasons, seasons, or lifetimes, and . . . all of the gifts and lessons I have learned because of your presence in my life, I am so grateful.
To Wendy McWilliams . . . sister . . . you are my mirror. We have laughed . . . we have cried . . . we have bitched . . . and we have manifested. Boy, howdy, have we ever manifested!!! Nothing can stop us now. Nothing!
To whoever kicked me in the ass to follow this dream . . . Spirit, the Universe, God . . . whatever you may call it . . . WOW!!! I'm so thankful that I finally listened to my intuition.
And, to all of you who take the time to read the crazy inner workings of an artist . . . Thank you.
Much love always,
Paula
Preface
I’ve known I’m supposed to write something for quite a while. I say I’ve known, but actually, I’ve just been told — by lots of people who know me and have been with me the past five years through my ups and downs, ins and outs, and rantings and ravings.
So, what generally happens when someone tells me what I “should” do is that I dig in my heels — BIG TIME! I hate being pushed or led. You know what they say about horses . . . you can lead ’em to water, but you can’t make ’em drink? Well, that’s me. Only picture a donkey . . . a bit more stubborn. I’ve always been one to discover stuff on my own. Just like the time I got drunk the first time . . . but, that’s another whole story — to be saved for another time.
I’m not sure exactly what happened or when the shift occurred from “No frickin’ way am I writing a book” to . . . “OMG, I’m gonna write a book!” — but it has happened. And just like when I started painting, I had no clue where to start. So, I put it out there . . . in my mind. I asked for signs. ’Cuz the last thing in the world I ever thought I would do was write a book. The second to the last thing I ever thought I would do was paint. Yet, here I am. Writing. And painting. Hell’s Bells.
And true to form, the Universe — God, Spirit or whatever makes your little heart happy to say — brought them in. IN A BIG WAY! Don’t ask me how it happened. It just did. It snowballed.
I started talking with an acquaintance on Facebook. She became a friend . . . and then a mentor. NOT a guru . . . a mentor. She saw me. She encouraged me. She pushed me — with just the right amount of force. She knew how to handle me with kid gloves. Gentle force. She held safe space for me and encouraged me to explore options.
I was ready to quit. I was overwhelmed. I’d committed — or should I say I should be committed — to three shows that summer. AND A BOOK! And a new grandson — and, and, and . . . DAYUM!!! I had a stress fracture in my ankle and was trying to “do” as much as I possibly could because that’s the way I was raised. Being creative is not always about “doing.” Sometimes — hell, most of the time — it’s just about being. It’s about being quiet and listening to the messages. It’s not about going and doing all the time. After all . . . we are human BEings; not human DOings.
My mentor listened to me. She listened to my rantings and my ravings. Then, she offered a suggestion because she knew if I quit, I’d never go back.
This is what transpired:
“I’m having a bad day,” I told her. “I’ve made the decision to write my book. Fear is creeping in. I’m not sure if I am scared or overwhelmed or timid or what, but I’m thinking about taking a month off to figure it all out — even though I know it’s important. It’s a tough decision to commit to writing a book, especially one about really poor “mistakes” — I prefer to call them learning experiences — that I have made in my search for self-love . . . and acceptance. I knew something would come up in this process . . . and this is the first of many fears, I am sure.
“I have a stress fracture of my right ankle, so now would be a perfect time to start writing, but all I can think about is how much I need to do. I can only think of things which require me to be up on my feet, of course. I’m running around in circles in pain, trying to do as much as I can, but not accomplishing anything.
A person in my circle – it’s an outer circle now, but used to be an inner circle — is doing all kinds of things which make me feel incompetent. It's my choice how I react — I get that — but, none-the-less . . . DAYUM!!!”
My mentor suggests that I write a letter to her. She calls it working through my issues. I will pretend that she is me and I am her. She recommends that I hold her . . . as me . . . in a healing cocoon of light. And tell her that she is not broken and why she is important — why her voice matters, how she can do this, why it’s important that she does this, and why the world NEEDS her voice.
“All right, I can do that.”
“And when you are finished,” she says, “change it. Reverse it as though you are standing in front of a mirror and talking with yourself.”
Deep breath. And another. And yet one more.
“Okay,” my inner critic says. “Here goes nothing.”
And so I write to her as Me . . . and me as Me.
Dear Me,
I realize that some days can be totally overwhelming. I get that. You always have a choice: a choice to let it get you down or to look at it as a learning experience.
First