Images from the last few weeks

dismantling the things that no longer serve us

Mariya Strauss

May 12, 2024

why begin again?

maybe a job is too overwhelming or a poor fit.

maybe a primary relationship has been broken for a long time and both people need to make a change.

A black figurine of an Egyptian cat. A road lined with blossoming cherry trees. A necklace of aqua colored stones that are cracked and broken. An empty seat and rainy window at a cafe, with coffee on the table. An ikebana arrangement of tall daffodils. A campfire burning inside a potbellied chiminea. A collection of art supplies and a plaster angel. A watercolor sketch of cartoon spiders. A whiteboard at my job bearing the question, What's Your Favorite Thing About Baltimore In The Summer? With many many answers. — I am lucky that as my home has become a place of increasing work, my work has become more of a home.

maybe the kids are older and have different needs, different schools, different capabilities.

maybe the things around us are no longer the things we desire.

maybe internal reflection and processing have led us to a pivot point.

maybe fear was the only thing holding us back from newness.

maybe healing is available, finally, if we only seek it out.

maybe we have been functioning on fumes through our days, taking hits and losses and never stopping to consider what we could change.

maybe we need a change of scenery—our eyes need to see other colors and

A gray tabby cat sits with front paws on the floor. A boy child with dark curly hair squints at the solar eclipse through eclipse goggles, holding his hands to the edges of the goggles. A sunset is visible through spring flowering trees. A pile of framed posters and suitcases and other belongings sits in the center of a room. Another gray tabby with white paws holds the hand of a human and looks into the camera. A lake's surface glitters in the sun behind a black wrought iron fence. A magnet and a post-it note with the words May 9th are stuck to a stainless steel surface. A human hand holds a crochet hook above a purple crocheted scarf. A pin reads, Matzah Balls Not Border Walls. — Preparing for Listing Day. Eclipse glasses. Cats. The view from the deck.

our skin needs to feel new sensations.

maybe everything has not really been okay.

maybe we haven’t known what to do differently, thinking that things might just improve on their own if we waited.

maybe we built a community and a life and thought these things could never be rebuilt in a different place.

A child's research project poster on Frederick Douglass. A vase of yellow tulips with a yahrzeit candle for Kathy Boudin. A child's scrapbook page reading All About Sasha. Stacks of boxes packed in an entryway. An old garden lamp listing heavily to one side in a lush green garden. A realtor's For Sale sign in front of a gray townhouse. — Scot's and my last major collaboration: selling the house.

Maybe becoming whole will require more: more of the people who have always loved and nurtured us, more peace, more vulnerability, more stretching, more strength derived from loving and letting ourselves be loved, more complicating our own thinking about what wholeness means, more generative solitude, more saying “no” and disappointing other people (even our children), more pouring ourselves into the things we love to do, more lovemaking, more salad, more drinking water, more open grieving, more hugs, more villagers surrounding us in our grief, more flowers. Happy Mothers’ Day, everyone. I love you. Even if we have not met.

In Solidarity and Love,

Mariya

The Creative Aid Society

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