I’ve been doing a lot of “nest feathering” in my little French cottage here in Colorado. That’s been a whole other kind of fascinating for me as I have been drawn to colors and textures and artsy things that frankly astonish me. My inner “introspection addict” is fascinated by that and my ability to laser-focus on the “whys of my whims” seems to be unlimited.
One of the things I’m obsessed with right now is ceramics. In particular, Mid-Century Modern ceramics. I find them in antique stores, Etsy, and, Ebay and the the genre draws my attention like moths to a flame.
I recently discovered in my endless search for tchotchkes online that I seem to be really drawn to a brand called McCoy. This, in turn, got me searching for more of the stuff only to realize I had unknowingly already purchased one or two of the pieces.
So then I got curious… who else’s work was I collecting?
Well, here’s the thing. It turns out, basically no one else’s work. As I went through my home flipping over piece after piece of ceramic, they all seemed to say “McCoy” on the bottom. By the time I had turned over the 9th piece of pottery (yes, nine. Don’t judge me) I was laughing. I had become an expert collector of a particular kind of ceramics without having had the slightest notion that it had happened.
And yes, as usual, I am currently looking into the meaning of that. Does one just accidently become an expert in Rembrandts? Can you casually become a lover of Picassos without knowing it?
It’s seeming so. At least weird little Radleigh can.
In the metaphysical world, one of the ways I’ve also been weird is how challenging it has been for me to find my own version of meditation that will work for me.
I’ve tried the “sit still and think of nothing” approach. I’ve done the “listen to this gong while floating into the void” style. Spoiler alert: I don’t float well. My brain is like a sheltie—it needs a job or it’s going to start herding chairs. That’s why I had to find a different way in. Something structured, but still soulful. Something gentle, but with purpose. And something that helped me connect with the Divine… without making me feel like I was doing it wrong.
So what’s the takeaway from all this?
Maybe it’s that sometimes, the things we’re drawn to—whether it’s pottery, colors, or the way we connect with the Divine—are little breadcrumbs from our soul. We don’t always have to understand the “why” right away. We just have to follow the pull, trust the process, and stay curious. Because who knows? One day we might look around and realize… we were creating something beautiful all along.