When I lived in Florida, in my previous life, I dabbled in vinyl cutting. My dearly departed splurged and bought me one of those big industrial vinyl cutters so I could make signs and wall art and the such. I had big dreams to make loads of cash with this monster. There was just one problem. It wasn’t as easy as it looked. Sure, it was easy to peel off the back and slap a clever saying on your wall, but before that magical moment there was quite a bit of blood, sweat, and tears.
When you cut out vinyl, you have to know how to format your machine on your computer. This takes brains. Brains are not something I used regularly in that lifetime. Don’t get me wrong, I was good at mommy brain; organizing grocery lists, coordinating laundry, scheduling 5 million kid related activities weekly, but not computer formatting. I remember staring at the computer screen and just … not having a clue what to do. It was frustrating.
The other part of vinyl cutting is picking out all the parts you don’t want on your finished product. This is the equivalent of trimming your acre sized lawn to exactly the same blade length using dull nail clippers and wearing a blindfold. This could be why I need reading glasses now (which I don’t use). It was mind numbing.
After those parts, it was a breeze, kind of. I gave up on the idea after a while and sold the machine to a friend in Alabama. She has done great things with it. I was perfectly happy to say I couldn’t do that hard thing.
When it comes to doing hard things, I have learned over the years that I can actually do them, if I want to. Take child birth. I have survived every time because I wanted to. I didn’t give up because I didn’t want anyone else snuggling my babies. Then there is school. School has been a mixture of super easy stuff and stuff that makes me want to hold my breath til I pass out, kicking on the grocery store floor. That never really works, but it seems really appealing at times….
I can do hard things. I don’t always like to, but I can do them. I’m at the end of my masters’ program and I can’t remember being less interested in my classes since I went back to school six years ago. I am D O N E emotionally with it. If I wasn’t “this close” to getting those diplomas, I would say screw it and walk away. But, here I am…at the final home stretch…and I can do this.
I’m still tempted to offer cold hard cash to someone to finish this for me…Or to pay off my professor. I’m not above begging.
Cause I said so.
Photo credit: http://www.dailymobile.net