A few months ago, one of my doctors suggested learning a new skill to add to my treasure chest of pain-management tools. So began my mission to oil the gears of my mental machine.
I started out by attending Stanford. Kind-of. There's this big little app called iTunes U - a massive archive of thousands of audio and video courses from universities around the world. I also attended Harvard, but I'm a West Coast girl at heart. Plus I can't stand the cold.
That's the goal. Turn down the volume.
Learning new things helped to keep my mind from my condition. I had forgotten how wonderful moments of "AHAH!" could be! I couldn't learn enough! Academic courses lead to creative ones, which led to artistic ones. Having been a working photographer prior to my accident, this fed a need I thought was lost. The desire to create.
Although I have always been a right-brained creative, I never really thought of myself as a crafty person. The scrapbooking aisle brought on an apoplectic twitch. Too many fantastic little sparkly options at once left my mind in a spin.
Painting. I'll try painting. But what to paint? Looking at a canvas gave me performance anxiety. So I started with a desk. I was in bed for a week.
Finally, it happened. A sparkle. The kind I could handle. In my quest through YouTube How-To's for something to shield my brain from pain, I came across a video on how to make a necklace. I was clasped. Not only was making jewelry fun, it was something I could share with our children. The following Saturday, my office looked like Michael's after a 6.8. Tiny crystals peeked through the ridges in the floor - everywhere. I could lay back and create a mini masterpiece. Even if it was a flop. Then I realized what my doctor was talking about. It wasn't so much about finding a new hobby, more than a new passion. I had mourned losing the ability to photograph weddings. But it was also about losing an identity.
In creating Teeny Bean Fine Jewelry, I am able to begin a new life of productivity and passion with something I love. During the making of each piece, I fall into a zone of "feeling" the life within the stones and the process. In those moments, pain and disability do not exist and all there is, is light. It is my hope that when someone wears my line, they feel the same way about life.