Our words can be damaging or uplifting. Let’s choose uplifting.
“We need to talk.” “I’m busy”, she replies without looking up from her cluttered desk. Paint brushes, pens without caps and pieces of paper covered with scribbled half thoughts; ideas that rush from her so fast that by the time she jots them down they are practically illegible. She is resolve.
(By Corey Rotella, CNA Extraordinaire) Enough. I have been hurting. That is okay. I’ve been taking on the emotions from other people’s decisions. That is not okay. I’ve been angry. That’s okay. I’ve been isolating. That is not okay. And how dare no one see through my forced optimism and shaky gratitude into the aching
(By Corey Rotella, CNA Extraordinaire) I think the greatest lesson, the one that has served me the most is that life will never adapt to me. Life does not bend and twist itself to fit into my whims and desires and little plans. It’s just never worked that way. Years of futilely pounding my
(By Corey Rotella, CNA Extraordinaire) I put it on paper. I paint it on canvas. I reach in and drag up the very essence of who I am, my light and dark and discuss it with rooms full of strangers. I feel the sharp edges of my fear prick
(By Corey Rotella, CNA Extraordinaire) I think I can’t. I think I can’t. I think I can’t…I’m not sure at what point this week I began to feel like the little engine that couldn’t. Maybe it was after a difficult conversation with my Grandma whose mental state is less than I had
(By Corey Rotella, CNA Extraordinaire) I looked up at the clock, surprised to see that four hours had passed. I had paint in my hair, under my nails and on my favorite jeans…and I felt much, much better. I looked at the explosion of colors and patterns on the canvas before me and as always
(By Corey Rotella, CNA Extraordinaire) Life is complex. Dynamic. Messy. Filled with the depth that comes only from human experience. It cannot be defined in bumper stickers or Facebook memes. Our scars bear witness to our struggles. Our pain can inform our choices without defining them. Our joy can heal our wounds without erasing them. Our failures are
(By Corey Rotella, CNA Extraordinaire!) So far, this holiday season has brought a whirlwind road trip to see my family over Thanksgiving weekend, an emergency surgery for my Dad, a root canal for my boyfriend, and an announcement from my eighty-nine-year-old Grandma that my Grandfather was a wonderful lover. And it is not even
“We are the story we tell about ourselves.” I can’t exactly remember where I heard or read this phrase, but I have been thinking about it quite a bit over the last week. This one little phrase implies a lot! To me it connects various ideas about how our thinking and subjective reality are directly