Trying to pick yourself up after you’ve been flattened by life is something I’m all too familiar with. I’ve been doing it since I was 10 and a brain hemhorrage knocked me out of the game 2 weeks before US Olympic Gymnast Training Camp.
I came to after dying 3x blind, paralyzed, and recovering from an induced coma.
What I’m trying to come back from now is the most difficult health issue I’ve faced since those days.
What I do have is drawing from numerous times my life and plans were rerouted – for me – knowing I survived it – perhaps even emerged a stronger better person for it.
The Spirit Lives
I’ve come to see – fortunately -on endless walks over months the creative spirit within is still around, though it was and continues to be touch and go.
Merely thinking of projects can make me physically ill.
I think some part of me has been ‘splining what I was trying to do was akin to a baseball player getting back in the game before his injuries were healed.
Aka “Ain’t gonna happen.
Failed Negotiation
I tried all sorts of end runs around my higher self.
Crash and burn.
I gave up
And gave it to the Universe
Tuning the Dial
I was eventually strong enough to tap into old philosophies including my success with Silva and the Law of Attraction.
And got to a point where it was diminishing returns.
That’s okay – I’d put the energy out there. I trusted the process.
So Where Do the Socks Come In?
I’m finally in a place where I’m strong enough to do a post under circumstances I wasn’t able to before.
Yay!
The Socks?
I could start with a cutesie story of how my kitty used to steal my socks when I was in second grade so I couldn’t go to school.
And leave her.
Years later she showed up at my sixth grade classroom.
Hopped up on the windowsill next to my desk.
Neither the teacher nor principal – both nuns – were amused.
We didn’t have a working car at the time so my dad had to ride up on my 10-speed bike and put her in a suitcase to ride home with .
Bet that was fun.
The Cultural Divide of Socks
Anecdote aside, the sock thing started when I was 12 and my family had moved to New Orelans.
Small town in Jefferson Parish.
I had to wear the Catholic school uniform – I got that – but I put on socks I felt represented my creative spirit.
To give perspective, the other girls wore poodle length uniform skirts, bobby socks, and saddle shoes reminiscent of the 50s though this was some 30 years later.
Needless to say my yellow and brown striped socks didn’t win any popularity contests.
Nor did my Yankee accent.
It was actually the school bus driver who called me out first.
“What are ye wearin’ those fer?!”
She threatened not to let me on the bus.
Then decided to let the nuns have at me.
Needless to say, it went downhill from there.
But my creative spirit had morphed into some sort of rebellion over socks and the freedom to choose my own.
Sock Evolution.
By the time I was in high school I was working multiple jobs and maintaining grades good enough to get an academic scholarship.
And leading an organization that earned me Oakland County Outstanding Citizen of the Year.
Laundry was not a priority.
Neither was hair.
It’s amazing how many adults get tied up in knots when you don’t pay attention to such things.
Not school adults – ahem.
Showing up in mismatched socks was simply no big deal to me.
It was reflective of getting dressed at 6am after having gotten home from work after 11pm. I was half asleep.
When I was called out for it I replied, “What does it matter if they match? They’re both clean.”
Evolution II
I started to choose socks with fun patterns.
No dull solids for me!
And of course none of this was inspired by the continuous criticism of my choice of socks.
I mean come on – who takes the energy to stare at someone’s ankles? I lived in jeans so it wasn’t like people could see goofy knee socks!
Evolution III
Alas the thrill of the sock hunt has been replaced by the joy of spending as much time barefoot as possible. That doesn’t mean I don’t seek creative expression.
The latest version came from the realization I’m spending more time in t-shirts than sweaters.
So I may as well make it fun.
Given I needed to expand the wardrobe anyway since wearing the same 3-4 t-shirts over and over was going to have them wearing out I decided to do something fun that will help my writing efforts.
Honoring that creative spirit.
This will be evident in future posts.
Stay tuned
Elizabeth Maxim 
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