Swan Hanging Art Mobile by Mark Leary Designs
Mobile: Swan
On calm
“They say it’s there before,” fox explained. “But during the storm, it’s entirely up to you.”
“They say it’s there before,” fox explained. “But during the storm, it’s entirely up to you.”
Thoughts while making
There atop the mountain, he stood. “The world,” the boy thought, “is mine.” Then, with a nervous smile, it began. Slow at first, picking up speed, the earth moving beneath outstretched arms.
Momentum, he knew, would take him through the first turn. He’d planned for that. Faster + faster. Then the straightaway. Nothing to stop him now. Anxiousness becoming exhilaration. His blue eyes sparkling.
The second turn. That’s where he anticipated trouble. A hard right at full speed, then directly up again. He was on the other side before he knew it. He’d done it. The celebration began even as he made his way up and up and … oh shit.
When I was 7, I “learned” how to roller skate the hard way. Racing down our steep driveway, roaring down the sidewalk, and then up into our neighbor’s equally-steep driveway. All was going well until I realized I didn’t actually know how to skate uphill.
When I started rolling backward, I had a moment where I thought I might come out alright. The sprinkler head I tripped over apparently had other ideas.
My sister found me crying and jumping up + down yelling, “My ankle, my ankle!” When my mom arrived, she tried frantically to stop me from jumping, panicked that I was doing even more damage to my ankle.
When she calmed me down enough to ask where it hurt, she was surprised when I pointed at my wrist. I often mixed up the two, and in *my* frazzled state, I’d done it again—causing even more confusion.
We laugh about it now, but at the time it was kind of traumatic. Not only because I broke my arm, but because I didn’t feel like my family could “hear” me. I was screaming where it hurt and yet they were focused elsewhere. It was confusing to me and to them.
This memory came to me today as I scrolled through Instagram, seeing such pain and fear, and the desire of so many to help or to be heard or both; highlighting the importance of speaking and listening with such sweet and gentle care.
What can you do today to better hear + respond to your own needs and/or those of others?
There atop the mountain, he stood. “The world,” the boy thought, “is mine.” Then, with a nervous smile, it began. Slow at first, picking up speed, the earth moving beneath outstretched arms.
Momentum, he knew, would take him through the first turn. He’d planned for that. Faster + faster. Then the straightaway. Nothing to stop him now. Anxiousness becoming exhilaration. His blue eyes sparkling.
The second turn. That’s where he anticipated trouble. A hard right at full speed, then directly up again. He was on the other side before he knew it. He’d done it. The celebration began even as he made his way up and up and … oh shit.
When I was 7, I “learned” how to roller skate the hard way. Racing down our steep driveway, roaring down the sidewalk, and then up into our neighbor’s equally-steep driveway. All was going well until I realized I didn’t actually know how to skate uphill.
When I started rolling backward, I had a moment where I thought I might come out alright. The sprinkler head I tripped over apparently had other ideas.
My sister found me crying and jumping up + down yelling, “My ankle, my ankle!” When my mom arrived, she tried frantically to stop me from jumping, panicked that I was doing even more damage to my ankle.
When she calmed me down enough to ask where it hurt, she was surprised when I pointed at my wrist. I often mixed up the two, and in *my* frazzled state, I’d done it again—causing even more confusion.
We laugh about it now, but at the time it was kind of traumatic. Not only because I broke my arm, but because I didn’t feel like my family could “hear” me. I was screaming where it hurt and yet they were focused elsewhere. It was confusing to me and to them.
This memory came to me today as I scrolled through Instagram, seeing such pain and fear, and the desire of so many to help or to be heard or both; highlighting the importance of speaking and listening with such sweet and gentle care.
What can you do today to better hear + respond to your own needs and/or those of others?