Where I Began . . . The Real Joy Hunt

I remember a time
when I was working at a job I really didn't love.

I was young, and needed to earn a living and the job was there and I took it.

But

it wasn't what I really wanted to do.

I had this job, and was good at doing it,

but it didn't satisfy the craving in my heart for the creative yearnings that were nested there.

Because no one had ever taught me that I could follow my heart's desire.

I learned at a very young age to dutifully do the things that were set before me
to do them well
and to be thankful that I had the ability to work and live a good life.
I was healthy and strong and smart and able.

There were things you should do in life, and I had obediently fallen into one of them and was working diligently to be very good at it.

The problem was,

it went against the grain.

It wasn't an outpouring of my natural talents and abilities and loves.

I wasn't following my heart.

It was an insurance company sort of position.

(I was good with crisis management, and numbers and with people - no denying - but this was boring.)

Meanwhile,

I was newly married, furnishing a new home, and for fun I was picking antiques for my aunt's shop.

My grandmother and I would travel the backroads scouring barns and out buildings, farm sales and auctions, tagsales and thriftshops,

seeking the wonderful items the shop needed.

The thrill of the hunt!
The
  real joy
was my weekends of exploring and finding treasure.

My grandmother was coaching me to dig through, pick over and unearth hidden treasure.

Ah . . . the thrill of finding a hidden diamond in a barn of old rusty tools, cracked leather harnesses and burlap feedsacks!

She was a pro when it came to the negotiation of prices.

Integrity, consideration, politeness, balance of power.

Grandmother was a diplomat.

I would often find a treasure for my new house!

A huge old wood bowl, a collection of soft, timeworn linen dishtowels, 

a leather bound book from the Civil War era, a chippy ironstone pitcher . . . 

The weekends and vacations spent doing what I loved were enough to assuage my growing boredom with the work week . . . 

for awhile.

There were times I daydreamed about the next jaunt into the Tennessee mountains

 to do what I'd rather be doing.

Just touching a 100 year old oak splint, egg gathering basket could set my mind to imagining the life it had seen.

Was it there when the Civil War was being fought?

Was it fashioned by the hands that had to leave to go to war?

Was it used by a young widow who never saw her spouse come home?

History was my passion - and it was fueled by the simple, beautiful, handmade items of yesteryear.

Made of necessity

used daily

tenderly cared for

long living

story telling

food for the soul

I wished I had more time to spend learning about and being immersed in this kind of living history.
This was the
  real joy
of my life!

I wished . . .

And I kept on working away at my day job
because no one had ever told me I could follow my heart.

This was what real life - "grown up" life - was all about.
You did whatever you had to do to get to the reward of what you'd really love to be doing when there was time.
We all knew that.



Until things changed.

Follow the saga of finding
YOUR
real joy!