Live, Shearly

“Happiness” – what a simple, yet complex concept?

But what does it really mean? Who defines it?

You do.

To me, happiness means having the courage and desire to be yourself. Using vulnerability as the paint and craft box, and not allowing anyone else’s opinion to influence or exceed your own (especially not to the detriment of yourself), is the key.

This is a principle I had to fight tooth and nail in order to achieve, and the challenge still presents itself often.

While to some it may be [obvious] that one of the most fundamental building blocks of joy is creativity— even so, many take it completely for granted. There is more to this level of contentment than meets the eye. Neither joy nor creativity can exist without the presence of secateurs.

All creativity, in one form or another, necessitates the outcome only scissors can produce. Not only to cut through the fabric, thread, paper, patterns, and all other beautiful pieces that you hope to combine on the trail to bliss – but also to cut out the uncomplimentary.

For me, creation comes easy, it always has, but it works hand-in-hand with doubt. I am a creative hoarder and symbolism is my kryptonite—I am absolutely crippled and beguiled by these sentiments, simultaneously.

I love a good play on words. I adore people who can speak their truths and cut out the extra noise without question, or reasons completely unbeknown to anyone but themselves.

However, sometimes I find this to be an incredibly difficult task. Even when completely aware of this, sometimes I am still paralyzed by the perils of others’ opinions—drowning out the air that fuels and flames my fire.

Thinking about all the ways people cut— themselves, their dreams, each other—not always in a manner that is absolute, but open to interpretation… One thing is certain: Everyone has their own pair of shears, and when used properly, we sheerly [and merrily] go through life. The path and oath we take is our life’s creativity— we decide what to keep and what to cut out.

Severing ties with cynicism, with a certain brand of conviction, has become my second art form. I was so ingrained with the contemplations and fears of others and it weighed me down so heavily— causing complete immobility. I would envision getting rid of such ties, using my hands as make-belief scissors, using my index and middle fingers as the blades, making the cutting motion. To my surprise, I always felt better after this little imaginary cut-out.

Being a visual learner, I had to find a creative way to really represent cutting out the negativity, in a [tangibly] real form.

So, before a big project, I ask the Universe to guide me and help me cut the cords of anything that holds me back from achieving my full potential, letting go of thoughts, things, and even relationships that no longer serve me. I write down everything I want and everything I feel I need to let go of in order to achieve this.

My sacred ritual has become my own version of therapy. I light a white candle, say a prayer, surround myself with my crystals, write down my affirmations, cut them into slim strips, and take a piece of my special thread that I only use for this purpose—and physically cut the cord.

The peace that follows the sound of shearing while imagining a white light of pureness protecting me—grateful for the learning experience that was brought into my life—made me feel so triumphant to let it go. Sometimes it is so powerfully overwhelmingly, I find myself happy-crying with gratitude.

*Happy sigh*

Consequently, perfectionism had to go too. It was the demise of my creativity, and therefore my happiness; along with a failed implementation of my craving for artistic growth and expansion.

Sometimes I wondered if that was the true meaning behind the old adage, “the devil is in the details,” since this was the most obvious form of “idle” where the devil truly succeeded in my life.

When I am too distracted by the minuscule minutiae to follow through with the path to cheerful completion of a greater picture—my mind is the devil’s Olympic playground. Thus, I replaced perfectionism with adaption, and criticism with careful construction.

Even as I type this, just having used the option to cut, is one of supreme convenience—quickly getting rid of the extra weight (and any incoherent rambling).

Today, I always have a pair of scissors with me. They are mostly eyebrow scissors, for that random stray hair—but they symbolize so much more than that. They bring a sense of comfort to my belongings. Just knowing they are there ready to be of service for that unplanned moment where I need to fix something, create something, or get rid of something. Scissors are my secret weapon—their presence reminds me of this ability to modify.

I could get so stuck in the clatter of others’ judgments alongside destructive ones of my own. However, my talent and Olympic sport have become to sharply disengage the adverse racket and excess, with pious conviction. Like the Sisters of Fate who ruled over the destiny of mortals, cutting the thread of fortune, with a definite precision that a knife cannot execute. I was done allowing others to dictate my innovative safe haven.

My golden string motto: If it doesn’t bring sheer happiness… Cut. It. Out. Shear-ly.

Deliberately let go of all the toxicity that causes hurt and pain; paralyzes progression; allows second-guessing to come first; abruptly stopping the conception of beautiful things.

Clippers are made to cut the excess. As I move forward in life, I have chosen to cut ties with all things that stunt my joy and am absolutely deaf to them; clearing the way for new ideas, projects, and forging new paths. Sometimes this is literal, and sometimes the sentiment obliges as a metaphor—either way, it brings a sense of congruence that is unmatched. It’s like finally snipping that snag that hangs on, getting caught on anything and everything.

Speaking of snags, my thirtieth birthday, the one where I decided Iwas going to make a jacket because it was my Golden 30th birthday (turning 30 on the 30th)... I knew exactly what I wanted, the vision clear in my mind— the only question was how to pull it off. But I was not messing around, so much so I forgot to actually plan anything. I just wanted to make my jacket even if I was only going to wear it at home.

So I did.

I ordered a black denim jacket, slightly shredded, got some sew-on pearls, used some acrylic paint I had, scissors, needle, thread and off I went.

Emphasis on the off part because I truly had no clue what I was doing. The only sewing I knew was by hand. I had grown up watching my mom, aunts, and grandmas—and that's about all the knowledge I had. So I just starting sewing, and it just started taking shape. I threw some paint in my signature greens, golds, and teals, added some pretty pins that I had been gifted by my mom and friends—and never quite new what to do with... and voila! I had my jacket. Nevermind that in certain angles the mermaid scales could double as artichoke—I made my jacket. Yes, the inside where the sewing took place looked like an illustration for a sequel, Edward's Playground: Running with Scissors... Honestly, if it wasn't so frightening I would have provided proof.

Nevertheless I loved it.

I loved every part of making it and wearing it out—my friends came through and we had such an unforgettable night for my entry into a new decade. The compliments on my jacket were plenty and it made me so proud. Proud because I wanted something, and I made it— for myself—regardless of what anyone else thought.

I try to actively let my imagination run wild with my vulnerable thoughts, like clippers trying to navigate the uncontrollable majesty that is the stormy sea—the twists and turns that make sense to no one else but me.

Those who are comfortable with their vulnerability, fully aware and in-tune when inspiration hits, who innately understand "not to judge a book by it's cover" are the individuals I have the most interesting and memorable exchanges with. This is why creativity is so important to me.

I never know who might inspire me—or who I might inspire.

I perceive to never know when someone, possibly in dire need, will grasp and connect with something I have created, more than I could have ever perfectly planned. Because when you cut something, you have to connect something else in its place. When I let go of something, simultaneously something new and inspirational takes its place. That's what breeds true happiness for me.

Bringing the sense of home to someone who has forgotten how it feels after a long tumultuous journey. Providing instant warmth to someone whose life’s practice has been to live in the cold. This is the true prosperity of artistry; to be able to give freely, without reservation or expectation.

I am infinitely grateful for all the incredible and unbelievable experiences in my life. I am endlessly lucky to have the memories to reflect back on so fondly.

That is why the man with the scissor-hands was named, Edward. His wealth came from running around with scissors learning to love, and accept love, from others. I am ready and willing to welcome his sentiment—with open arms—scissors and all.