The wind under my wings?

"What a caterpillar calls the end of the world the master calls a butterfly" -- Richard Bach.

"What's this?", I hear you say, "Jen is quoting from Richard Bach?!" Richard Bach, the author of the quasi-spiritual book "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" that is so beloved by the New Age community? The same Richard Bach whose inspirational quotes -- along with accompanying signature image of a seagull soaring against an azure blue sky --  decorate everything from coffee mugs to computer mouse pads?

To tell you the truth, I'm as shocked as you. I've always been fond of the above quote, but until I Googled it only a moment ago, I hadn't realized where it originated. Correction: I had forgotten where it had originated. I had a boyfriend several years ago who was a devotee of Richard Bach (back before Bach's absorption into the folds of New Age philosophy) for whom this was a favourite quote. To be honest, I've never read the guy.

What brings me to this quote at this particular point in time is the massive transition that my life is presently experiencing. This is a transition which is both timely and much welcomed. I've recently received notification that I have been accepted into the Master of Fine Arts program at York University, a two-year full-time program which commences in September. As a result, my life over the past week-and-a-half has been topsy-turvy with preparation for this momentous change.

Allow me to backtrack for a moment so I can place this life-altering transition into greater perspective. Approximately three-and-a-half years ago, I left my full-time job to give birth to my first child, Ridley. At that time, I'd been gainfully employed in the graphic design industry for nearly ten years, working on my own artwork in the evenings and weekends. While this was never an ideal arrangement, it was the only arrangement I'd known. When I left to begin my maternity leave, knowing fully well that I'd not return, I felt like the carpet had been pulled out from underneath my feet. Everything and everyone I'd known vanished in an instant and there I was left, holding the baby. Literally. I found myself cast in the role of the caterpillar, unable to see the transformation enacting upon me.

And then something curious happened. I fashioned a new life. New friends in a new environment and a new, different rhythm to life. This time, life crept by at a slower pace. Through a magical combination of the stars and planets in the heavens, I managed to receive not one but two art council grants during this time, which enabled me to work on my art part-time while being the stay-at-home mother the rest. It was a wondrous, if temporary, balancing act of career and parenthood. 

And now, nearly four years later, I find myself leaving this world of parks and playdates and entering the world of academia. It will be horrendously challenging. I've steeled myself for that. But I embrace this transition wholeheartedly. 

However, don't expect to ever see any soaring seagulls on my coffee mug. I hate that shit.