I take a lot of flak for the fact that I haven't written in such a long time. So okay, okay already. I'm writing.
If you followed my erratic learning journey during my previous chapter, you will know that I am no stranger to depression. A few years ago, the black dog paid a visit. He had visited before, but this time, he looked set to stay. It. Was. Dire!
Gradually, after a few years of mist and fog, I began to feel that I might finally be coming out from under. I was headhunted and took a 'proper job' in a company and everything.
But after a series of setbacks in my personal life, and some disappointments in my professional one, I decided to call it a day. My manager was very understanding and we parted on good terms.
Initially, I looked for part time or contract work in the field of L&D (Learning and Development), which had been my consuming passion for lo these 25 years and change. But I just wasn't feeling it any more. I was tired. I was tired of having the same conversations that I had been having for 10 years and more, about technology in learning and the future of the field. I was tired of dealing with the same objections. I was tired of starting every project with the client enthusiastically calling for innovation, only to observe the client's feet growing progressively colder, until we ended the project with more of the same. I was tired of farting against thunder. I was tired of not making a difference.
I have always been a keen crafter and pretty good with my hands. Gradually I found myself doing it on a full time basis.
So now I dress in dungarees and Crocs. I wield a paintbrush, or a sander, or a beading needle or any of a vast array of other tools large and small. I am usually covered in sawdust. Or paint. Or both. I might even be bleeding (remember the beading needle?). And I love it.
I upcycle old and tired pieces of furniture or clothing. I make stuff out of reclaimed... well, stuff. Like wood. Or beads. Or mirrors. Or whatever else I find. And I advertise it in various spaces (like this one, for example), hoping to move it on to a new home. I undertake commission work for clients: restoring beautiful oak kitchen counters, or garden furniture that is showing signs of age. I have even been known to do a spot of painting (walls, not canvasses!).
The name 'upsycho' as you might have deduced, is a conflation of 'upcycle' (which is what I do) and 'psycho' (which is a nod to my struggles with mental health issues).
I am currently on the hunt for a physical space from which to sell my 'kreations' so that my long-suffering husband can stop falling over things en route to the dog food bin, the tumbledrier, or his scooter. Watch this space.
And that is enough context setting. Posts from this point on will be about this stage of my journey. This chapter. Are you up for coming along?
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| One of Karyn's Kreations |
If you followed my erratic learning journey during my previous chapter, you will know that I am no stranger to depression. A few years ago, the black dog paid a visit. He had visited before, but this time, he looked set to stay. It. Was. Dire!
Gradually, after a few years of mist and fog, I began to feel that I might finally be coming out from under. I was headhunted and took a 'proper job' in a company and everything.
But after a series of setbacks in my personal life, and some disappointments in my professional one, I decided to call it a day. My manager was very understanding and we parted on good terms.
Initially, I looked for part time or contract work in the field of L&D (Learning and Development), which had been my consuming passion for lo these 25 years and change. But I just wasn't feeling it any more. I was tired. I was tired of having the same conversations that I had been having for 10 years and more, about technology in learning and the future of the field. I was tired of dealing with the same objections. I was tired of starting every project with the client enthusiastically calling for innovation, only to observe the client's feet growing progressively colder, until we ended the project with more of the same. I was tired of farting against thunder. I was tired of not making a difference.
I have always been a keen crafter and pretty good with my hands. Gradually I found myself doing it on a full time basis.
So now I dress in dungarees and Crocs. I wield a paintbrush, or a sander, or a beading needle or any of a vast array of other tools large and small. I am usually covered in sawdust. Or paint. Or both. I might even be bleeding (remember the beading needle?). And I love it.
I upcycle old and tired pieces of furniture or clothing. I make stuff out of reclaimed... well, stuff. Like wood. Or beads. Or mirrors. Or whatever else I find. And I advertise it in various spaces (like this one, for example), hoping to move it on to a new home. I undertake commission work for clients: restoring beautiful oak kitchen counters, or garden furniture that is showing signs of age. I have even been known to do a spot of painting (walls, not canvasses!).
The name 'upsycho' as you might have deduced, is a conflation of 'upcycle' (which is what I do) and 'psycho' (which is a nod to my struggles with mental health issues).
I am currently on the hunt for a physical space from which to sell my 'kreations' so that my long-suffering husband can stop falling over things en route to the dog food bin, the tumbledrier, or his scooter. Watch this space.
And that is enough context setting. Posts from this point on will be about this stage of my journey. This chapter. Are you up for coming along?
But of course I'm up for it...
ReplyDeleteYou'd better be @JohnIScream
ReplyDelete