A Blessed and Happy Life

Sometimes I have to escape my office and find another spot to work. The stacks of paper, drawers of punches, containers of stickers, brads, and adhesive loom overhead and threaten to drown me in the excess. I pick my way through the piles of scraps on the floor and find my way to my slightly less claustrophobic bedroom to crawl into the softness of my bed with my light-weight and inviting laptop.

It is here that I can reflect on my day and look ahead on tomorrow's "to do" list with fresh eyes.

What exactly do I DO all day? Good question.

I'm a Jane-of-All-Trades and only master of some.

For much of the day I chase people via e-mails, answering this question, asking that one. Despite my graduation from and employment with Covey Leadership, I have obviously not learned the habit of putting "First Things First." Email calls to me, beckons me, threatens me, and finally guilts me into answering. What would life be like without the constant call of the "right here, right now" technological advancements? I assume at least somewhat more peaceful.

When I'm not on e-mail, I'm probably elsewhere on the web surfing the visual pool of scrapbook images for inspiration, publication or marketing purposes. Much of my time, probably too much of my time, is chained to the computer. I haven't found a way around that yet; but when do, I plan on rejoicing in the loss of the 10 pound machine that seems to be attached to my hip (and no, my laptop doesn't weigh that much).

If the computer isn't calling (yelling) my name, then I'm creating. And while I am free of one monster, I'm a slave to another. As a traditional scrapbooker, I own stuff. A plethora of stuff. You name it I own it stuff. When the incoming outweighs the outgoing, the room and closets and containers soon begin to burst at the seams. And I'm bursting. Hire a maid bursting. Hire a personal assistant bursting. Move to another house and pretend you haven't become a hoarder bursting. Despite my efforts to purge on a regular basis, I still have too much stuff.

That being said, this hobby, this job requires stuff. And secretly I love the feel of a smooth button between my fingers, or the delightful laughter of someone picking a sticker from my shirt, or the permanent dye on my fingers from stamping. It all hints at the idea that I might be an artist. I am the daughter of an artist. He designs interiors. I design paper projects. I like to think that sometimes he might be proud of the fact that we're both called designers though in different arenas.

My favorite thing to do? Write. Write and write and write. I'd like to think I'm as smart as my grammatical checker on my Word program, though that's far from true. I'd like to think that my marketing copy will make the company millions. And I like the look of words like "editor" and "author" by my name. It's a grown up job that I happily backed into and somehow found my calling. And that is the second half of my heritage--an English major mother.

In one day I can be a designer, an editor, a writer, an assistant, a personal shopper, and always a wife and mother. It's crazy, chaotic, frustrating, and rewarding--and in the end I can almost always say that it makes me happy. I live a blessed and happy life!

1 comment

  1. What an absolutely wonderful post Jen! Thanks so much for sharing with us!


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