Artsy

Just the other day I was sitting in the passenger seat of of the car next to Chad.  The kids were in the backseat and squealing with delight as the car slowly made its way through a car wash.  Water splattered the car and soap suds meandered their way down the windshield.  Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of something and reached for my camera.  Chad shook his head at me and smiled. . . your so artsy, he said.

Artsy?  Me?  Not me.  His comment bewildered me.  I’ve never been artsy.

Athlete?  Yes.
Studious?  Yes.
Structured? Yes.
Sensitive?  Yes.
Driven? Yes.

Artsy?  Never.

Oh, but I wanted to be.  I wanted to be that girl who had a creative flare.  The girl who could look at nothing and see something. The free spirit.  Colorful.  Fun. 

I always admired that girl.  I just wasn’t her.

*****************************

I’m realizing that life is a process of becoming, just as much as it is being.  It’s ever changing and that excites me.

Maybe I’m artsy. . . maybe I’m not.  Maybe, just maybe. . . that’s up to me.

I dig that.