Learning to share myself.

My next step in sharing my story. The following is taken from my Facebook Notes.

I am going to a craft fair the day after tomorrow. Why do I feel nervous? Does it make me vulnerable to see or hear what others who do not know me might say about my pottery? I know it is a personal choice as everyone has different tastes. I still find it intimidating. I do not know how to make people feel comfortable if they do not like my work. It’s ok. I like my work.

I know why I have a hard time keeping my blog up-to-date or updating my status. For years I have resisted speaking publicly. I HATE (yes HATE) being put in front of a group of people to speak. It doesn’t matter if it is a group of my close friends. My ears buzz and I can’t breathe if asked to give a presentation. This includes being on the training field or in an obedience trial although a good friend helped me to learn to focus and not pay attention until I get off the field. I hate being watched.

I am learning to share more and put myself out there. I have done so with my photography and find myself able to put it out there even when I know it opens me to critiques. I believe it’s important for growth.

So now I move to my pottery which is just as important as my photography. I never realized how much it can touch a life. While I pay business taxes and have to do bookkeeping it is more than a business to me. I pay my bills via my day-to-day job. This gives me a chance to make financial decisions and be my own benefactor. I am passionate about my pottery. I love to share what I love to throw. I love the feedback. It gives great encouragement to know my efforts don’t just please me but others also.  But they are not just something to hold pens, eat from or hold your coffee. My hope is they will hold memories for you.

My Life Lesson: I have a childhood friend. I have known her since she was in 5^th grade. Her mother had a stroke when we were just teenagers and I had the chance to see what a vital life she still lived even when partially paralyzed by the devastating stroke. When she passed away several years ago and Abbe was cleaning out her things she brought me a little pot with a broken handle. I had thrown that pot in high school and given it to her mother. I had no idea she had kept it close all those years. The broken handle was just a strong reminder that even though a vessel might have a disfigurement it does not mean it is not useful. I have that little pot sitting on my desk where I see it every morning as a reminder. It holds my memories of Mrs. Onanian.