Fake clothes for fake people...

I had a thought the other day at lunch with a friend...

What have I done with my life thus far?

I have made fake clothes for fake people.

Clothes that belong in the imaginary closets of imaginary people. They went to imaginary stores, tried on the clothes in imaginary dressing rooms, were dressed by imaginary servants, payed with imaginary money, and lead entirely imaginary lives.

Is my work imaginary too? Have the past 7 years of my life really meant nothing, except to the imaginary people of the world?

I am trying to work all this out in my brain. I am so burned out on sewing...I can't continue to make fake clothes for fake people...but now what??

I find myself feeling that I am redefining myself. Which is mostly true. I have spent all my life defining myself by what I do to make money--and I am tired of it.

What do I do?

I take care of people.
I love my family.
I love my friends.
I care for my children.
I write.
I paint.
I sculpt.
I create artwork.
I walk on the beach.
I live life to the fullest.

That is a short list of what I do. I am no longer defined by what I do professionally.

I am who I am.

Whomever that is.