Sometimes a person crosses your path and you know that God had a hand in that meeting. That one friend that ends up being your bestie. That one man that ended up being the one. That man that handed me ten dollars the other day at the farmers market because he, “saw how well you took care of your daughter and I want to help you buy her some good food.” Today I was blessed enough to meet a wonderful older lady who has lived a fascinating life. I am certified to do aromatouch technique* and was able to share that with someone today that was such an amazing person.
When people ask what I do what I say is based on who they are and what I perceive them to understand. I can answer this question multiple ways.
I own my own business.
I work for an essential oil company.
I teach classes on holistic health for an essential oil company.
I come in and teach you and your family how to live a more natural lifestyle for overall wellbeing.
I’m a well educated modern hippie.
In reality all of these things are true. I don’t sell oil. I teach people how to use oil. I help them set up a membership so they can buy oil at a discount and save money. That’s it. I generally take in what I think they will accept and comprehend and tell them a version of that. It’s not that I’m ashamed. I’m not. I’m very proud of my job because it’s what I’m meant to do but it confuses people. I work hours others would really only see as insane. I travel hours away to teach classes and it may or may not immediately pay off. I do it because I love what I do and I believe in it very strongly. I see the financial possibility of my husband working with me and for me in a few years. I see the ability to bless others in ways most people can’t even dream of.
Today while giving this lady a massage she mentioned that she was a writer to me and I said, “Oh. So am I!” This was the first time in my life I’ve identified aloud to someone else that I am a writer. I’ve known my whole life that I am indeed a writer but to say it to someone and have them accept it and understand it was deeply gratifying. We conversed after the massage for over an hour and I thoroughly enjoyed her company despite the years between us. We had so much in common and laughed out loud with our heads back a few times. After about half an hour I noticed when we talked about nearly anything she’d say repeatedly, “But you would do that because you’re a writer.” Or she’d say, “Yes and you would see that because you’re a writer.” Or something else that would end with, “because you’re a writer.”
Finally I said, “In reality I’m not published or recognized though. In fact 99.9% of my work is in notebooks and journals all scribbled full in my closet.” She said, “Publication has nothing to do with being a writer. Being a writer is a gift and I recognize it in you.”
This moment is one I hope I keep in memory forever.
A month or so ago a friend and team mate was discussing a piece I did on depression and anxiety and how she found it helpful. She said, “You have to keep writing the honest truth because you have no idea who you may be helping.” I’d never even thought about this before. I never even considered anyone would be interested in me enough to read what I wrote.
I’m a daughter to wonderful parents who did the best they could with me, God help them. Ive been loved so much. I’ve been divorced and abused and beaten. I’ve worked very very hard to keep my children safe and sound. I’ve been shocked that I survived several times. I’ve remarried a man I wouldn’t even date in high school only to have him totally change my view on men. I’ve went to college and gotten a degree. I’ve found my career path. I’ve lost and gained so much weight that I don’t really see what I look like anymore. I’ve struggled to put clothes on backs and shoes on feet. I’ve been sick and well. But in reality haven’t we all? Haven’t we all had ups and downs and in betweens? I’m no different than anyone else. Why would anyone want to read what I write?
I’ve been told my entire life to write. Just write. I’ve been told a few times that I am a writer but never like this, never so bold. I keep my scribbles and notes separate from my life and this blog is my first attempt in a long time to let anyone other than myself in to see anything at all and I’d like to genuinely thank you if you are reading this right now. This is very personal and very hard for me to do but I’m doing it anyway. I hope this blog feeds my hippie career path by providing information on daily lives of ōilers. I also hope it helps others use oils and become more acquainted with them.
I write because otherwise the words drown me. They buzz around like angry jellyfish in my head until they are out on their own. I can’t breathe for them. I can’t think straight for them. In this way writing this blog is selfish for me.
I also want it to make you laugh and reminisce and to be entertained. I’d like it to make someone smile and think about a time when someone did something kind for them or to remember things about their childhood or parenthood. I’d like it to be something I’d want to read.
*on a side note, aromatouch technique can make one feel very relaxed and comfortable so they make forge a friendship when an hour before it may not have been possible. I’m grateful that held true today.