Liz Huston

There was this period of time in my life which I have been thinking of often lately. It spanned nearly an entire year beginning around August 2010, I think. I had been divorced for about a year at that point, so was on the way to emotional recovery. In my memory, it was the happiest time of my life. Except that it wasn’t. Not as I lived it. Back then, I thought it to be the worst time. My heart hurt, physically. But because of some simple actions I took, that’s not the way I remember this particular year of healing.
My tiny apartment in Venice was close to the ocean, situated inside a beautiful (slightly delapitated hundred year old building). My abode was not more than 200 sq ft.  That futon you see was also my bed (for seven years!). I loved this small, charming apartment, and in it, managed to create lots and lots of art and happy memories.

My neighbors were the most vibrant, brilliant people; especially the man next door (that’s his patio in the bottom right corner). He’s a brilliant artist. And there was the feisty-loyal woman who lived across the hall. There were many others, but these two were, and possibly still are, my favorite neighbors. We would spend hours talking art and philosophy – where did we ever find that kind of time? We were all self employed, working from home. I suppose we philosophized instead of commuting.

I was hurting, emotionally. Did I mention that? I was dangerously depressed but doing so in a beautiful location, serenaded by the sound of the ocean, surrounded with wonderful people, and my job was to make art from all of it. One day I decided that I needed to document my life, and so I started a blog on Facebook. Here’s the first entry, should you be interested

The thing that happened as a result of my year-ish long photoblog experiment:
I started to pay attention. To my life.
Not only did I start to pay attention, but I started to fall in love with my life. Not with how I wanted it to be, not with how it should be, or how I could best present it. I fell in love with the actual present moments. Sometimes I’d indulge in a good nostalgia – but overall I became a witness to my own experiences and as a result I fell in love with them.

I started to notice things about my environment and myself, and then, gasp!, I’d share them, openly. I didn’t take myself or my “image” (whatever that means) as seriously then. I was an artist, but there was no rep to remind me about my “brand” or message to consider. Likes were so scarce it didn’t even matter. It was just me and as long as it was honest, and didn’t hurt anyone, I shared it all.

It was a remarkable time in my life. Things changed, deeply. I changed. I fell in love with my new single life, and I made peace with it all.

And I wrote blogs like this, which is quite possibly my favorite of all my writings. And the thing I didn’t say in it? I was falling in love. That’s what that blog was all about. Learning to really love another.

My life is beautiful, it really is. And you know what? Yours is too. But we are so consumed with all the problems (and there are many) that we fail to see the beauty.
Life is short, and it’s so very very precious. I am intending, right here and now, to bring back my practice of regular blogging. Witness and sharing about my life, art, love, learning. I hope you’ll join me.

xo
Liz
Wednesday, May 3, 2017

And since I started this in the past, let me bring it current. The view from my couch. As it looks now.

My living room. May 2017