Erased

Some lines are meant to be erased, but I wouldn’t get to the final drawing without them.

Some years are meant to be erased, but I wouldn’t be here today without them.

I don’t like wasting time. When creating watercolor home portraits I spend a lot of time meticulously measuring and marking a piece of paper. I erase those lines and marks I made only a few hours later. I don’t like wasting time. This isn’t wasting time.

So why do I view the marks I make on my own life as wasted time. 

In a drawing, this stage is critical — it’s where I begin. I cannot move forward without it. There is no other way to start. If I pencil in an incorrect mark, I rejoice. My mistake leads me to the correct spot. My misstep guides me to the right place. Sometimes I get it right on the first try, many times I do not. Regardless, I am grateful. Regardless I am making progress. The incorrect lines and correct lines hold the same weight and share the same meaning. That I’m moving forward toward something.

But in life, I do not view mistakes the same way. 

I wish I did.

Change Upon Change

Emily Barrett Browning 

Three months ago, the stream did flow,
    The lilies bloomed along the edge;
And we were lingering to and fro,—
Where none will track thee in this snow,
    Along the stream, beside the hedge.

Ah! sweet, be free to come and go;
    For if I do not hear thy foot,
    The frozen river is as mute,—
    The flowers have dried down to the root;
    And why, since these be changed since May,
        Shouldst thou change less than they?

And slow, slow as the winter snow,
    The tears have drifted to mine eyes;
And my two cheeks, three months ago,
Set blushing at thy praises so,
    Put paleness on for a disguise.

Ah! sweet, be free to praise and go;
    For if my face is turned to pale,
    It was thine oath that first did fail,—
    It was thy love proved false and frail!
    And why, since these be changed, I trow,
        Should I change less than thou?