Blocks

This is a painting I did when I first moved to Monterey five years ago. I had been working on a landscape, but had leftover paint on my plate. I didn't want to waste paint, so I started painting this little duck (Jemima Puddle Duck from a Beatrix Potter story). In the original story by Beatrix Potter, Jemima was unwisely trusting and the story had a sad ending. I wanted Jemima to have a happy story and to go on an adventure. So she ended up on a trail in the woods to someplace wonderful. This is the part about painting that I love. I don't plan what will show up on the canvas. It kind of just happens. There is so much joy and playfulness in creating something....using the imagination and being flexible to the creative process. It is how I used to feel when I was a kid when I would spend hours drawing books and illustrating my little stories. I would use up crayons until they were nubbins. Anyway, this is one of my most favorite paintings, because it has hopeful energy in it. I gave it to some dear friends and they told me it is hanging in a nursery. It makes my heart so happy knowing that!! 

Right after this, I used up the last bit of paint on the plate to paint my sister's labradoodle, Sirius.

When I am painting, the most important part is the feeling or the expression of the eyes. When I create, the thing I focus on most is the energy and feeling that flows from the creation. I want people to look at my paintings and feel something good. 

Sometimes when I hit a block and have trouble painting, it is because I feel frustrated that nothing seems good enough. It seems flat, has no feeling, and doesn't feel meaningful. I know this is why I have sketchbooks packed full of children's book ideas and illustrations, but nothing ever seems good enough to send in. 

How do I get past that?

Paintings

Time's Tide

TIME’S TIDE
Time flows,
like the waves upon the shore,
teasing the toes of memories
as they try to leave their mark....
Time.
It rubs everything down until the sharp edges are gone.
Time,
ebbing,
has a salty sting.
Never stand still and lament
the nature of the tide.

Christmas Memory

25 years ago...it had snowed a lot the night before, and the world was a glittering palace - quiet and full of peace. My morning chores on the farm included feeding the cows. My boots crunched into the snow, leaving perfect prints on the way to the barn. Clyde, my tabby barn cat, sat on my shoulder as I walked past trees bowing over with the weight of the snow. Gentle moos greeted me as I snapped on the barn light. I filled the old Folgers coffee can with sweet, molasses grain to pour into the feed pans and then I filled the feeding troughs with alfalfa hay. As the cows ate, I thought of the Christmas breakfast waiting. There was the yummy Christmas pull-apart bread with candied fruits baked in, warming in the oven and buttery, and hot tea or hot apple cider with a whole cinnamon stick in each cup before we opened presents. Life has different chapters; this was a sweet and peaceful chapter. Merry Christmas, everyone.

Christmas in Connecticut movie and Emily Dickinson style poem inspiration

Hope is the thing of batter, That bubbles on the stove, And sticks to the ceiling without reserve, And never drops at all

The sea is dark and still - 

a longing in the deep 

for light to pierce within and heal 

the silenced heart. 

Inky shadows

spread

and make the sun so cold and distant.

There is more terror still

in the empty quiet, the buried longing

of dreams

Magic Popcorn

I was at a craft fair stall, lost in the beauty of painted scarves that looked like trapped rainbows. 

The man at the booth said, “You’re a painter, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. 

“How did you know?” I asked, surprised. 

"You have that unassuming look, but you are so intent at what you see.” Then he paused for a moment and said with great assurance, "You should keep painting. I have a feeling you are going to be very successful if you keep at it.” 

I felt like he really was a kindred spirit, like he could tell what this year has been and how lost I’ve felt the last few months. 

I confessed, “It has been hard lately. I feel stuck, but I will keep trying.” 

Then he gave me a big hug and poured some kettlecorn popcorn into my hand and said, “Take this magic popcorn. It will help. Hang in there. You will find your way. Keep painting!” He smiled at me like he really saw me....the inside me. 

I won’t forget that unexpected encouragement, or meeting a friend who is walking through life with gentleness and kindness, pouring out love and magic popcorn.

That is what I want to be to others.

What a journey life is. 

Tapestry

I am in a strange season of life. I feel like I am in the middle of a great ocean. I've lost sight of shore, and I have no idea which direction to go. I'm floating, paralyzed by fear of making the wrong decision, and the fog is coming in. I feel pressed in on all sides. 

"Courage, dear heart," my soul whispers, but it isn't enough. I look backwards to where I came from to find the Melissa I have seemed to have lost. 

Looking back on my life, I was always very quiet, introspective, and very emotional. Although I wasn't outwardly expressive, it was all deeply internal and came out in my art and writing. I spent my childhood exploring the woods and the pastures and the little creeks around our house, writing stories, drawing, daydreaming, sitting in trees reading books, and snuggling the animals on the farm. I had two favorite places, and both allowed me to be in the midst of life, but not visible: the hayloft in the barn and the treehouse on the wide, rolling lawn facing the pond. Nestled in the arms of the branches, all around me millions of shades of green, my place in the tree was perfect peace. 

When we sold the farm and moved to California, I was devastated. I couldn't say goodbye, so I shut everything out and focused on the future. I opened myself to new adventures and possibilities and did everything that was just scary enough to grow my courage muscles: I joined a swim team my first year in college and later won the California Female Pepsi Scholar Athlete of the Year Award (which only one female junior college athlete can win in California). I then finished my last two years of college at UCLA, where I joined the UCLA Outdoor Adventure Club as a way to stay connected to nature (backcountry kayaking Lake Powell/backpacking Death Valley). I applied for a highly competitive creative writing major emphasis track and was accepted; I loved the literature courses of my major (pirate literature, science fiction, Victorian, Gothic, especially). I worked my butt off, and graduated with highest honors. The world seemed to open up wider and wider: I studied abroad in Ireland, explored Scotland, England, and Wales, moved to Taiwan and taught English to children for one year, and later moved to Australia for graduate school for two years. 

After all of that traveling and school, I ended up in Monterey. I had my dream job writing and editing educational materials for National Geographic Learning. Then, I got laid off after two years, and spent the next three years cobbling together a working life that allowed me to barely scrape by financially. I was fighting so hard to stay in the area, but life kept pruning my roots until I questioned if I was actually meant to be in Monterey; feelings of failure and doubt were shadows I couldn't shake. 

The anchor that kept me in Monterey the past five years, throughout the National Geographic job saga, temp job saga, property management job saga, and high school Chemistry and English teacher saga, was the ocean...and the Ohana I found because of the ocean.

What was it about the ocean that a farm girl from Missouri connected to?

The same feeling I had as a kid, sitting in the tree while watching storm clouds pile up, running as fast as I could down pasture hills in the warm, spring rain, and watching life from the warmth of the barn -- that same peace of belonging and peace of my true nature -- I finally found again when I would paddle out on the ocean, sit on my SUP or watercraft, and just...be. 

There is a strange wildness in my heart that paddling on the ocean has brought out, or maybe that wildness and savage courage was always there, and was just too shy to come forth. I feel my Viking ancestors in my blood when I paddle down steep waves, chase the horizon, and feel the push and pull of the wind, tangling my hair into knots even as it untangles the knots in my soul.

I haven't been able to paddle for two months now due to an injury, and that time away has forced me to express my inward feelings in paintings, poetry, and piano compositions. I don't understand the intense drive to express feelings, but no painting, poem, or piano song ever can. It is almost a desperate attempt to reach self-awareness and crying out for someone else to see me, too, and to understand and draw close. 

So, I look back on the crazy weaving of the tapestry of my life, and I see a Melissa who has pushed herself every step of the way, to be brave, to let go of what is not meant to be, to find peace, belonging, and purpose. 

This season of life has brought a challenge that no external movement can cure. This season of my life is a deep journey into my soul. To find meaning, balance, identity, purpose, peace, and passion. What makes me "me"? Who am I supposed to be moving forward? How do I find and embrace this new bud of a Melissa? Should I continue to fight to stay in Monterey?

Breaking through...

https://soundcloud.com/melissa-ulrich-239562625/breaking-through-despair

New piano composition....still needs some work, but the theme is strong there...I wish I could just paint and compose music all day.

October 1 - paintings

A study in blue

Trees

"You are born alone. You die alone. The value of the space in between is trust and love." - Louise Bourgeois

I have been thinking of this quote a lot lately. The past three days, I was up in the Santa Cruz mountains near Big Basin. Someone told me something about Redwoods that I didn't know...their root system, which spreads out for a thousand feet in every direction, is shared with other Redwoods - that is how they get so tall and live so long. People, like trees, are made for relationships, friendships, community. We are made to help and love each other - that is the point of life. We are made to trust and to have faith and to be vulnerable and see the best in others - we are stronger together. This is life, however many times we see the sun rise and set, all the between-times of loving are what matter, despite how we enter or leave. <3

Also, that quote and being around glorious trees the past few days reminded me of the Chinese name I was given when I lived in Taiwan for a year. My name was "One Tree Stands Alone." It was made from the sound of Melissa Ulrich and the quality when I described my personal history and ancestors. I often feel like one tree standing alone, but deep down, I cling tightly to the roots that connect me to others, even when it seems like I am standing alone.

Honesty

I have to admit, I am not ok - but I will be. 

I am digging myself through some identity evolution. I am not the girl I was ten years ago, or even a year ago. I am figuring out who I am now and who I am supposed to be. 

After I turned 31, I lost a lot of the blind optimism and wild, childish exuberance that felt like such a huge part of my identity when I was in my 20's. Now I mostly feel discouraged and depressed and tired of life--nothing really excites me anymore and I feel I have nothing to look forward to. It is a scary place to be. I keep hoping it will get better, but the older I get, the more alone I feel. The thought of facing life alone with no soulmate or no one to share this adventure with is sometimes unbearable. But I take one day at a time, clinging to hope that there is a purpose for everything. And if I am really destined to be alone, I will have the strength to make it through life. Lately, I have been confronting my greatest fear - it is standing up for myself and being angry discovering that I've taught people how to mistreat me. Being too much of a peacemaker can be a bad thing - sometimes I feel I have lost my dignity by trying to make everyone else happy, erasing my own needs, silencing my voice, and then feeling like I am not respected or valued. 

I learned if I don't stand up for myself, no one else will. Ugh. It is a tough lesson. I've always hated confrontations, but setting boundaries shows respect not just for myself but for others around me. 

I think that is why I keep having dreams where I defeat bears....I am finally finding my voice and my strength. I am accepting and stepping into my power. I am worth more than I believe. 

I always thought I was never enough. With this belief, I became like a ghost, trying to shrink from taking up any space at all. Now I know that isn't true, but I've let that thought rule my life for so long. I am tired of shrinking from power and space, but it is tiring, too, to push out from the restrictive bubble of fear I've wrapped myself in. Without my old patterns of rescuing others or pleasing others or trying to be perfect, I feel lost and without purpose. Will people love me, just as I am?

I want to step into my new skin, but I guess it isn't done growing yet. I don't even know if any of this makes sense....but I just have to say, this summer was hard, but it unlocked something in me. It made me realize that I do have sense. I am smart. I am capable. I am strong. I am worthy of respect. I am worthy of love. I am worthy of kindness. I am not a doormat.

Yes, I am fighting an internal battle right now--a battle against myself. A battle against the seductive shadow that has haunted me my whole life, whispering horrible lies into my brain and heart, making my soul hunch and my heart crave for what I thought I did not deserve. Depression is just part of evolving. It is very tumultuous to let go of ghosts and shadows. I am learning to forgive myself and I am learning to be comfortable in my anger. I never let myself be angry before, but by doing that, I never learned how to navigate the emotion in a healthy way. When you suppress anger, it turns into depression. But I want to break free of that.

I want to let that other half  of me out - the warrior half that peeks through when I paddle through crashing waves, pelting rain, and thunder skies. 

I think if I let that badass Melissa out, she would be a phoenix soaring with ferocious power, immeasurable love, and unshakeable joy for flight and freedom, victorious over the charred ruins.

I don't want to be afraid of her anymore, or her strength.

I don't want to be afraid of her love, or the love she could experience if she let it in. Because she is worthy of it.

I am worthy of it.

Dreams

I never normally remember my dreams, but last night I had the most vivid dream...

A Grizzly bear was attacking me. Instead of running or cowering, I stood my ground and defeated it with amazing ninja skills I do not possess in real life. I yelled at the bear and felt no fear - only anger that the bear would even try to attack me. I stood defiant, with my tiny little human body, and told that bear where to go before I kicked its butt. If you've ever met me, I am the least aggressive or confrontational person on the planet and would never, ever hurt any human or animal. I do believe in dreams and their symbolic power. Apparently, if you dream about a Grizzy attacking you and you defeat it, it represents your ability to face down your deepest fear. I am finding that the older I get, I am finding strength I never knew I had, even when I don't feel strong in any way at all.

The wispy layers of life
meet, meld, rise, and fall
A mysterious purpose bounding it all.
Each day wears away; all shadows grow dim
A memory fades, but love within
Burns beyond what eyes can see,

Illuminating all eternity.

Release

This morning, the ocean was glass and the sky was warm and low and gray. Paddling my SUP out, it felt like everything was gray and still. I was not so much moving over it, but into the vastness - a slow, easy peace. About a mile away, there was a whale watching boat. I paddled towards it, hoping to see what they were seeing. I passed the bell buoy, and the whale boat was now past Lover's Point, following something exciting. I tried to catch up, but I couldn't. The harder I tried, the faster everything seemed to move out of my strength. So halfway between the bell and Lover's, I sat on my board and closed my eyes, releasing the chase and enjoying the moment. Birds flew by, just skating across the surface of the flat sea. I could hear the wind in their wings and their fluidity in the gray. And so I, too, continue to seek that fluidity in life, peace in the moment, and release.

Reflection

Piano song link & painting of the music

"As I Am"

I never thought I would be a teacher, especially a high school teacher. But I cannot believe how much I love it and my students. This past year was tough teaching chemistry and my brain is still recovering, lol. Some days, like today, it was nice to just paddle into the harbor, sit on my board, and feel the water slip through my fingers like liquid magic. As the light streamed across the ripples down to the ocean floor, it was both heart and head time to enjoy doing nothing, being grounded, together, and home. In a moment of peace and belonging, a harbor seal swam up five feet away from me and stared at me, thoughtfully and curiously. "Hey, buddy." We just chilled together for a while, bobbing in the water. Then he went his way, and I went mine.