Bee Girl

 

My daughter—Callan—was born with her eyes wide open. In fact, when my friend Margie came to visit me at New York Hospital, she said my baby looked as if she was ready to launch into a comedic monologue on the late show.

As a teenager, she would stay up all night, sleep late, refuse to eat anything green. She was highly opinionated. And honestly, she was one tough cookie. Not so much a butterfly. More like a bee. With a stinger.

She was a challenge to raise especially since I soon became a single parent. But my daughter was also a delight. She was funny, brilliant, deeply humane, kind and artistic. She danced before she learned to walk. She championed the unhoused in New Haven, bringing her camera (her constant companion) down to the Town Green by Yale University--making new friends, documenting life in a college town, a city on the edge—and the odd juxtaposition of beauty, wealth, poverty, longing and sadness.

I worried about her--not simply because she cared so deeply, but because she had very big emotions. Oh, and my little bee had a stinger. Plus, she knew how to use it. Nonetheless, over the years she found her way in life--received an excellent arts education, married, became a successful graphic designer, an advocate for her city and the mother of two amazing daughters—my grand daughters.

Creative Friends--you have a stinger. Your stinger protects you from unwanted intruders--things and people that might interfere with your ability to find peace, to feel safe, to visit your own personal Imaginarium.

And don’t forget that you also have pair of wings. You have the gift of flight, the ability to rise up above the current tumult to see the bigger picture. Your art gives you the power to shine a light on the jumble of emotions we’re all feeling right now. It’s the key to clarity, beauty, grace and yes, even joy.

Your assignment for this week is to accept this fact and to own your power.

Love,

Jamie