Today we were part of history, the first black President was sworn into office.  Regardless of who you voted for or who you supported even if you don't live in the U.S., you can't deny the fact that we all watched part of history being made and that in itself is amazing.

I have to admit I didn't vote for Obama, not because of the color of his skin, but because I live in  Chicago, smack dab in the middle of the Chicago machine.  I even worked, up until a month ago, for the law firm where President Obama had his legal start and where him and his wife met.  I suppose, working for lawyers for so many years, the thought of another lawyer at the helm of our country scared me.  I was also afraid of where he practiced politics, here in Chicago where if you are not corrupt you don't make it very far.  But that being said, I support him now because he's our president and being American, means I have to at least give him a chance.

He spoke of change and I hope he has the ability not only to lead the masses but also convince the masses that change can be a good thing.   So often we speak of wanting things to change yet when the moment arrives, the opportunity knocks on our door, we usually run ten miles in the other direction.  Why?  Maybe because what we don't know is scarier than the hell we might be in at the moment.  It's like getting over a heartbreak.  When you are in pain, it's what you know, what you learn how to deal with; a comfortable blanket.  When the pain starts to reside you cling to it, refusing to let it go until finally it dissipates whether you want it to or not because although time doesn't heal all wounds, it most definitly allows us to continue life as we know it.  On the day when the pain is gone, when you wake up in the morning and your aching heart isn't the first thing you notice, for a moment you begin to grieve all over again because you know things are about to change and change can be the scariest thing in the world even if it's good for you.

So today we witnessed history but it's more than that really.  We witnessed a person of two races, Caucasian and African American, stand before a country of many races, and promise to lead them to something better.  I hope he can, I pray we will let him.

Today I painted my bathroom, the one in my room that stares out at me when I'm lying in my bed.  It was yellow before.  Bright sunflower yellow and I hated it; maybe hate is too strong a word, I loathed it.  When we moved into this house a year ago I fell in love with the place but definitely not for the colors on the walls.  I remember our bedroom was red and before I could actually live here I had to paint the bedroom walls.  I left the bathroom the way it was not because I liked bright, loud, in your face yellow, but because I was just too darn tired to change it.

So today I decided to paint my walls a different color, spiced cocoa to be exact.  It's warm and inviting and it makes you want to just go in there and stay awhile.  As I climbed up and down the ladder trying not to make too much noise while my babies slept, I kept thinking, this is harder than I remembered.  Not the painting, the changing something you've grown accustomed to.  When I was young it was easy to reinvent yourself with so little effort but now, it takes more than paint on your walls to make you look different than you did yesterday.  I guess it still surprises me how you can grow comfortable even when it's something you can't stand to look at.  I suppose I did that with my job, the one I had three weeks ago.  I used to love my job but for the last year since all the faces changed I felt much the same way as I did about those yellow walls in my bathroom yet somehow, I was comfortable there.  How can misery reside in the same space as comfortable?  I believe many people probably ask that same question with no apparent answer in sight.

As I lay here now in my bed, the warm 'spiced cocoa' walls in my bathroom gaze out at me casting a glow of something...maybe it's hope.  I know that sounds ridiculous that painted walls could actually give someone hope but  these days I'll take hope wherever I can get it.  Maybe it's that in a little over two hours I transformed something unpleasant into something I'm not afraid to look at anymore, something that actually makes me feel the ugliness has gone.

One brush stroke at a time...

Once upon a time I was scared of the silence, in fact I dreaded it.  I tried to fill my life with so much noise in the hopes that it would drown out any chance that the silence would catch up with me.  I remember sitting in my apartment on a Sunday afternoon after a long drawn out night of trying to attach myself to some other lonely soul and it was so quiet that even the clock seemed to be holding its breath.  Silence never scared me more than it did in times likes those because if all was quiet, somehow I was forced to listen to the beating of my own heart which meant I was still there, in that space, completely alone.  Back then, I hated being alone.

Now here I sit with noises from my dog Marley snoring and my son playing up in his bed when he is supposed to be taking a nap and all I long for at this moment, is silence.  It's been so long since I've had one moment by myself that I've almost forgotten what it feels like.  I suppose driving in the car can be considered being alone but since most places I drive are to do something for someone else - they don't count.  Am I selfish?  Maybe.  I can honestly say that I don't even know what selfish looks like anymore.  Noise can drown out the demons you are afraid of facing or it can be the obstacle that stands in the way of rediscovering who you are.  Some say silence is over rated but in my mind, those are the very people who resemble that young woman I used to be, turning up the stereo, starting the dishwasher, doing a load of laundry - just to drown out the silence that surrounded her.  What I wouldn't give to be able to turn off the noise and for the first time welcome the silence like a long lost friend.