Stumbling Proudly

I've been feeling the strains of beginning anew lately. Let's face it - starting to date someone is always messy. New person, new energy, new triggers and sensitivities. But being widowed makes it even trickier. After almost 3 years without a man by my side... I am a completely different person than who I was with Drew. I am far more independent. I don't even think of it as being alone these 3 years, but that I have been in a very deeply committed relationship to myself. I'm discovering this is making it hard for me to navigate the landscape of a relationship with someone new.

I found a rhythm there, in the space of my solitude. I have come to a place inside myself where I deeply and genuinely love being alone. Where - much of the time - I would prefer to share time only with myself rather than others. A place where my solitude leads me into creative worlds unlike any other... allows me to see the world in new ways and the focus to ponder deeply on subjects which I often write about or photograph in my work. Being alone has in fact become my very favorite place.

And so the question is... just how do I navigate bringing another heart into my sphere? How do I balance these two worlds? How do I do so in a way that doesn't push this person away - and does not make me feel like I am cheating on myself? How do I help him to see and know it isn't personal, but something far deeper and more spiritual for me? That ample, deep, rich, free times of solitude are what root me deeply enough in myself to be my happiest self and do my best creative work?

I don't have any answers right now... which I hate.

The hardest part is that this is a new part of me. I never dealt with this in my relationship with Drew. I had a 9-5 job like most folks. And when I was off, I spent majority of my time, gladly, with him. But being a working artist and being who I have become is a whole other ballgame. My work never stops. My work and my life have become one thing - and solitude is a very integral part of that. I have to make efforts daily to isolate from friends, family, media and all the rest of the world in order to keep my creativity flowing. It is a constant fight for balance - even before he came into my world.

Today I think, I will allow myself a break. This is the first time I am doing any of this. The first time I am setting out to create a business deeply tied to my emotional and spiritual self. The first time I am learning how to live again after losing the love of my life. The first time I am letting new love in and the first time I am learning how to carve out space to still be committed to myself. And I haven't a clue what I am doing. In any of those areas. And that's OKAY. All I can do is my best... to take care of me, and to keep my heart and my creative work a priority, and to make room for this new person in my world to the best of my ability. And I think I am trying really hard to do all of those things.

I guess the most important thing is to remember... I am learning. The new woman I am has different needs than the one I used to be. It's going to take time to get to know what she needs out of a relationship and out of life. Naturally, I am fumbling. I am falling. I am tripping all over myself. I am making mistakes. I am thrown totally off center. I am having freakouts. I am stressed, and confused, and feeling a bit lost... BUT, I am learning. I am loving and laughing. I am sharing and growing. I am enjoying this new person who brings me so much joy... who has been doing his own learning through all of this messiness. I am living life again.

Sure, it's messy. But often times it is the messiest parts of our life that teach us the most. Drew's death taught me that, and it's an important lesson I need to remember. Adventures are never without hardship. They are always filled with a level of uncertainty. The beautiful part is that - for the first time since he died - my mind is now preoccupied with the new ventures in life... not with grief and death. That alone tells me I've come a long, long way.

No matter how chaotic my world is right now, I am glad for all the reasons it is. I am glad to have work that matters to me. I am glad to have formed a bond with myself over these years that I now deeply cherish. I am glad there is a new person in my world that I want to make room for... even if I haven't figured out how to best do that just yet. I am glad I don't know what I am doing and it feels challenging and everything seems uncertain - because it means I am living life adventurously. And I know in my heart Drew would be so proud of how I am facing the challenges that all of these new adventures in my life are bringing. Let's do this.

Milestones & Grief Creep

"Sanctuary" © Sarah Treanor

This past week one of the most amazing things happened to me that has happened in my "after" life. I was selected as a finalist for a magazine cover of an art magazine - for one of my photographs that tells part of my grief journey - and ended up winning the final vote. It is the first time my art will be published on a magazine cover. This is huge for my fledgling career as an artist. And more-so it is huge because more people going through loss will see my grief series and hopefully find something of their own story there.

I couldn't believe how many people voted and shared. Thousands of fans and friends and family all rallied behind me to make this happen. My gym shared it on their business page. My mother-in-law's employees all voted and shared it. People I don't even know. Old college classmates. Old coworkers. So many left comments about the grief journey they are on, and how one particular image or another of mine spoke directly to them. People bought prints - one, a counselor, who will be putting up the photo in her grief counseling room. It has been unreal.

Suddenly I have found myself looking back in a different way than I have before. Looking back and realizing that I've gotten somewhere I do want to be. Before my fiancé died, none of this was here. I was working in a cubicle, feeling trapped and unhappy and scared because I had no clue how to ever really go for my dream of being an artist. Leaving a full time job was the MOST terrifying thing I could possibly imagine. Before he died, this idea of being an artist was all just wishful thinking… a far away notion that he and I would often talk about over afternoon lunches and morning coffee.

Little did I know that his death was going to take me on a journey I could have never imagined for myself. Not an EASY journey… but somehow, a far more meaningful one. His death was the catalyst in my leaving that career behind. It was the thing that shook me awake and made me see that if he could die for his dreams, then I'd better get started living for mine.

It's been a horrible and agonizing and fear-filled journey that I wouldn't wish on anyone (you all know this!), and it STILL is every step of the way. Somehow though, during these two and a half years I have found some sort of really meaningful beginning. One that is far more meaningful to me than the life I was living before he died.

It isn't the one I wanted - not like THIS. I never wanted to make art about the death of the most important person in my world. Or death in general. But when you lose your mother at age 9, your father at age 26 and then your fiancé at age 29… it begins to feel like someone is trying to tell you something. I finally decided to listen and allow death into my art… nothing has felt more healing.

I'm learning that by having his death and him as the center of what I'm putting myself into, it is giving it a solid foundation. On the days when I feel scared shitless and still have NO CLUE how I will ever make any REAL money doing this (living off my savings, betting it all on this crazy dream right now). On days when I feel lost and like I'm floating… knowing that he is at the center of this work is what helps me to be able to keep faith going. It helps me to know with all my heart that this work is valuable and meaningful, because all of my love for him rests within these images. And I know without a doubt that will mean something to other people. Clearly, it is.

The days after the big win have been of course an emotional roller coaster - just like any major event in our lives without our person. I call it grief creep… we all know it well. The aftermath of anything exciting - the quiet moments when the pain slips back in to steal the spotlight. As the week has progressed, I think I've just gotten sadder. Sad that he is not here to celebrate with me. Heartbroken that no one actually thought to take me out for a celebratory dinner or drink for this monumental moment in my life. No one. Which leaves me with the painful reminder that the person who was sharing a life WITH me is not here… and that I no longer have someone to be excited for me in the way that only your partner can be. And I miss that so much. And I miss him.

And suddenly, the whole milestone event of the magazine cover begins to pale in comparison to the feelings of sadness and grief. Don't you hate that? When the grief just seems to swallow up the good stuff - no matter how hard you try to not let it? I know I do. I've been fighting it all week - trying so hard to hold on to the good, and trying not to let in the sadness. I know… I have to let the sadness in. It needs to be felt as much as the joy. I will let it in, but dammit, I don't want to.

PS. A big thank you to anyone here who may have happened to vote for my image. You made a huge difference in my world this week.

To view my grief series "Still, Life" you can visit my blog here.

Signs of Flight

Since Drew was a helicopter pilot, helicopters and anything to do with flying are always the biggest signs I get from him. I even found a tiny toy helicopter in this shack on the island of Barbados last spring while vacationing there with his family. It had washed up on the beach and the guy collected it to sell in his shop. No joke!

And just a few months after he died, in the fall of 2012, I stumbled upon this artist's creative business e-workshop that was called "Flying Lessons". Drew was also a flight instructor, so it was all too obvious that he was telling me something. I signed up immediately. The Facebook group for the course truly carried me through those early months. Because of the theme of the class, all the women in the group would write cheesy encouragements to each other like "keep flying!" or "I'll see you up in the clouds!". It always made me smile, and confirmed he lead me there for a reason.

All things flight definitely seem to follow me around now, but it's been a while since I've had any signs that made me stop in my tracks. Until yesterday…

I was tinkering away on a new sculpture at a local clay studio I just started working with. It was midday and pretty cold, so the place was empty. After about an hour, I took a break to take some process photos of my work, and as I framed the picture, I noticed something written on the worktable just a foot above where I was working. As I read it, I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped to the floor…

I was speechless. For those who aren't aware, Drew died in a helicopter crash. Of all the places for this message to be… on the work table in a clay studio??? In front of the exact woman who's fiancé had died flying? And it wasn't even the spot I usually work at. Because it was so cold out, the owner told me to work in that corner because it was the warmest spot in the studio. So I took his suggestion and moved there. For about 20 minutes after reading it, I just sat there totally stunned. I kept looking around the room - my mind saying a bit humorously, "Are you SURE you're dead?!?". When I first read it, of course my interpretation was something like "flying is pointless unless you die doing it". Well, what a totally demented and Drew-like thing to say, lol. Of course as I sat with it longer, I realized it was really talking about living life. If you don't die really living life, then what's the point of living? Damn. That's SO HIM to say. And SO how he lived his life. 

I realize someone else's hand wrote that message - but somehow, that message found its way to me… in the far corner of an art studio an hour from where I live, out on a 20 acre ranch that I'd have never even known about if it wasn't for Drew's mom having taken classes there and introducing me to the owners.

For me, it is a sign to keep doing the things that make me feel alive. To keep taking big chances and doing things that maybe totally scare me, just to see where they take me. It is definitely the sort of advice he would always give me. And what's also crazy, is that I had that exact talk with my counselor a few weeks ago. I've been in a real slump since my job ended a month ago, and he recommended I focus on things that make me feel alive - not happy - but ALIVE… which is somehow way easier to focus on in the midst of grief than the idea of "happy". There isn't much that makes me feel truly happy since he died, but there are lots of things that make me feel alive. That I can do… in fact,  that was the reason for going to the clay studio to begin with. Man, you can't make this stuff up!

And then of course today I am promptly slapped in the face with an opportunity to leap into the air and try to test this message out: A job opening to teach art lessons to a young boy. I have no experience teaching AT ALL and am completely terrified of stepping this far out of my comfort zone. Despite that, I cannot stop thinking about how much I want to share art - my deepest passion - with other people. So, I guess I'm gonna listen to the writing on the table… here's hoping I fly.