I'm on my way ( I don't know where I'm going)...*

Disclaimer: Wordy post ahead........

Lately I seem to be reading a lot of "why do you blog" posts over the interwebz (I think it's only because I see what I want to see? I do see a whole host of other lovely posts, but these stick on in my mind because they resonate with some inner disquiet I guess.). It's no secret to regular readers that I have been facing a degree of ennui over this blog, it's lived out its course as an inspiration journal of pretty images. Yes, I still find them pretty and inspiring and they brighten my day, but I've been possessed with a need to open up more, let the sunlight in, expose my flaws (a perfect home is all so pretty in pictures, but it doesn't have the depth that lived-in clutter has, does it?), get to know you better, cement some friendships that have come my way...Engage, you know? and I have struggled with just how much of myself to put out there. The truth is, despite living this parallel life on the internet, I am, by nature, a kinda-reserved person (I make lasting friendships in real life, but I'm very selective with them. I can count the people closest to me on one hand.) So the dilemma always is: how much to open up? How much is enough and how much is too much? (I realize I've written something similar in a few posts earlier.... If you think I'm beginning to sound like a stuck record, I apologize!) So anyway, I've been working on a blog overhaul and I was designing an updated "about me" page and I kept getting writer's block because I had so much to say, but couldn't fit it into a chirpy, pithy "stick-around-for-a-while" type paragraph.  (some of you have to have been there! right?) It's hard to condense even one tiny facet of your personality into a tag line, you know? Tag lines just don't cut it sometimes, there has to be a story behind it, each one of us has them, why we read what we read, why we write what we write.......The most fascinating part of this blogging journey for me has been the people I have come in contact with. I've had the privilege to have known some of you through the stories you have chosen to share with me, and then there are those who remain a mystery... I love to imagine some of the stories by what you choose to say and what you choose to leave out......

So I'm here today to share one such story about myself, my effort to reach out...I'm going to leave out specifics, because they don't really matter. What matters is the essence, the journey, and the lessons it holds (if any). Ever since my trip to India, my mind has been dwelling on stories of my childhood, trying to reconnect with the girl I was before I became a teenager, a woman. This trip, I had the opportunity to sift through tangible evidence of those memories (see photograph). I was an avid journal writer and a bit of a  pack rat. I held on to old ticket stubs and coins and stamps. (oh, and my collection of Binaca animals (anyone else remember them? )Well, I discovered a lot of  my junk stuff on this trip, and strangely enough, the memories it held were just as vivid as if they happened moments ago.

Junk treasures that I hauled back. Picture, courtesy my scanner! *Title inspired by.

This is my story (aka what won't really be going down on my "about me" page ;) -->

The Gagan you have come to know through this blog is not me in entirety, it is a facet of who I am. This Gagan is a product of her upbringing, daughter to and sister of the women who occupied my peripheral vision during childhood. Growing up, My World  was focused on watching lizard tails fall off, following lines of ants around the garden, digging pools for kittens to play in in  the backyard, discovering how sweet and milky an ear of wheat could taste and walking around with the shell of an old camera (inherited from my grandfather, the lens was long-lost and it was just a rusty box, a skeleton of it's former Agfa glory) pretending to capture the clouds. And while I injected my dollies (and on occasion my mom's cactii) with healing serums(!!), they (my mom and sister) would be involved in the frentic pursuit of the next artistic venture, painting, embroidery, knitting, paper flowers, baking, cooking, stitching, batik, tie and dye, screen printing, collages, dancing, music, ikebana, crochet: there was nothing they left unexplored. And I absorbed it all, if only by osmosis. I learnt an appreciation for crafts from them and it shaped one facet of my personality. However, it all remained in my peripheral vision. 

I had other interests and I followed the logical course into my career.... One summer afternoon in eighth grade, in the last class before dismissal, and 20 minutes into Mrs Khurana's lecture, I discovered my calling. *Click*. It all fell into place. Over the next decade and a half (or more--I'm not going to date myself here! LOL!), I followed my dream with relentless dedication. And it took a lot of dedication to stay true because it was the difficult path. But, somewhere along the way, I was changing. Life happened and the dream lost it's luster. A highly politicized environment might have been to blame. It might have been the birth of my child and the accompanying physiological changes. It may have been a culmination of a lot of things, but somewhere along the way I fell out of love with what had once driven my every waking thought. It wasn't easy owning up to this though (especially to myself)--it took me years to reconcile with the fact. Because I had built my identity around it, Who I was was inextricably linked to What I did. (it wasn't easy, the break-up wasn't pretty and my husband was witness to the worst I had to offer. He stuck by me through it all and I love him all the more for it, now). I "took a break" and devoted myself to raising my child. Fast forward a couple of years and as my toddler went off to his first day of preschool, I approached my old demons...did I really want to go back to a career that I had spent years building, but had lost the passion for? The answer was no. I did however still love certain basic aspects of it and I wanted to continue to "study" it without getting my hands dirty again. So I chose to work on the fringes, working on delivering the content rather than generating it. It was oddly satisfying and I was content. Then came another upheaval followed by a few other major and minor tremors. I was back to the drawing board, directionless, curtailed by physical and administrative constraints. And I needed to reinvent myself yet again. That's when I found this blog. What started out as a diversion to keep myself from going stir-crazy as I waited for those restrictions to lift, slowly reconnected me with my childhood self, the girl who would willingly apprentice with her sister or mother as they followed their passions.

I guess I did absorb some of it after all.

--xx--

Moral of the story: (because there has to be one! (or not! LOL!) ). It's never too late to be who you want to be(or to go back to being who you want to be). And you may not want to be who you thought you wanted to be. And it's okay to change your mind (several times over if need be). It's okay to be comfortable with who you are at the moment, even if you're just waiting for the flood to ebb.  If you want to stay that way forever, excellent. If you you want to change, excellent. If you want to revert back, excellent. It's all good. (It took me a long time to realize this.) Just do what you're doing today with your heart in it, so that you don't look back on this day as a wasted opportunity, with regret. 

Let's face it, we each have only this one life to live. Might as well enjoy it, no? What do you think--did anything up there make sense???? I'd love to hear more of your stories....