The Right Way To Do All The Important Stuff

I used to think there was a right way.

A right way to learn.  A right way to grow.  A right way to study.  A right way to write.  A right way to look.  A right way to think.  A right way to run.  A right way to express.  A right way to counsel.  A right way to mother.  A right way to speak.  A right way to love.  A right way to photograph.  A right way to create.  A right way to live. A right way to be.

Life had rules, steps, boundaries in which I should live.  And since there was a “right” way, it only made sense that there was also a “wrong” way.

The thing is,  I didn’t know the “right” way.  I missed that class somewhere in elementary school.  I think it was called “The Right Way To Do All The Important Stuff” and unfortunately it was taught on March 7th and that was the day I was at home with the chicken pox.

Since I missed that very important class, I spent most of my life assuming I was doing everything wrong.

Learning wrong.  Speaking wrong.  Studying wrong. Writing wrong. Feeling wrong. Photographing wrong. Counseling wrong. Running wrong. Thinking wrong. Expressing wrong.

I’m not sure when this belief formed.  Maybe it was somewhere in my teenage years?  Or maybe closer to adulthood?  Or, quite possibly, I’ve always believed it–born cursed with nervous, uncertain footing.

Stifled and insecure. Paint-inside-the-lines-don’t-stand-out-don’t-be-noticed.

I’ll likely never know when it happened or how it happened, but I don’t think its as important to understand where my thinking originated, as much as it’s important to understand that it’s actually there.

I’ve learned, though.

I’m learning, though.  Slowly, oh so slowly, I’m learning.  Life is this big beautiful classroom in which I, and each one of us, get to discover our best path.  It’s not about right and it’s not about wrong, it’s about what is best for me, or you, or her, or him.

Not only is each day this blank canvas on which I get to paint whatever I want, but I don’t even have to paint on the canvas. . .

You see, I want to make big, broad strokes with my life.  I want to paint the canvas of my life full of color and rich tones.  I want to make plenty of mistakes and own each and everyone one of them.  I want to look at the canvas and feel something, not just be impressed with the perfection of it.  I want to use everything I’ve been given.

Tomorrow morning when I wake up I can choose.

I can chose to be brave or be scared.

I can be joyful or bitter.

I can work really hard or I can be lazy.

I can be genuine or I can be a fraud.

I can be confident or insecure.

I can grow or I can remain the same.

I can be a survivor or a victim.

I can choose to listen to the noise on the outside or trust my spirit on the inside.

It’s not about right and wrong. . .

As I put more and more years behind me, I understand that life is about the choices I make.  It’s about owning them.  Claiming them.  Resting in them.  Being confident in them.  And when I learn that there was a better choice?

Learn from it and move on.

I’m no longer searching for the “right” way or avoiding the “wrong” one.  I’m just living, simply, and evaluating as I go.

Meadow’s abstract art–a crumpled napkin

Now, life is full of possibilities. . .

And that’s the kind of world I want them to see.