This hat has a story. In 2010 I went in Scotland with my friend Mary from the US, visiting Glasgow and Edinburgh and general Scotlandish areas. One day we go out to Loch Lomond. We have a nice little tour of the lake and then go to a tavern nearby, when suddenly, we hear music. We can’t really tell where it’s coming from though.  Imagine, I’m with my friend and her very very Scottish other friend and his wife. Basically, I thought I’d reached the summit of Scots. But anyway, we all pack up our stuff and on we go to look for the source of the music. We end up at a camping spot, and outside on picnic benches, in the freezing cold, are about forty men and women, dressed in traditional Jacobite attire. Full tartan and weaponry, too. They’re very merry. Turns out we’ve stumbled into their annual meeting, during which they reenact old battles and tell tales of how the true king of Scotland will one day claim the throne. This hat was gifted to me by a clansman, who made me honorary member of their clan (which is called Na Fir Dileas or “The Loyal Men”) by giving me a piece of tartan. He then proceeded to very drunkenly sing me a very American love song. Na Fir Dileas are a cultural, historical and heritage awareness group whose membership is open to all persons over the age of eighteen years regardless of their sex, race, creed or religion and providing that they agree to abide by the “rules and regulations” of Na Fir Dileas, and that they can prove themselves to be of high moral worth and good social standing. 
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This hat has a story. In 2010 I went in Scotland with my friend Mary from the US, visiting Glasgow and Edinburgh and general Scotlandish areas.

One day we go out to Loch Lomond. We have a nice little tour of the lake and then go to a tavern nearby, when suddenly, we hear music. We can’t really tell where it’s coming from though. 

Imagine, I’m with my friend and her very very Scottish other friend and his wife. Basically, I thought I’d reached the summit of Scots. But anyway, we all pack up our stuff and on we go to look for the source of the music.

We end up at a camping spot, and outside on picnic benches, in the freezing cold, are about forty men and women, dressed in traditional Jacobite attire. Full tartan and weaponry, too. They’re very merry.

Turns out we’ve stumbled into their annual meeting, during which they reenact old battles and tell tales of how the true king of Scotland will one day claim the throne.

This hat was gifted to me by a clansman, who made me honorary member of their clan (which is called Na Fir Dileas or “The Loyal Men”) by giving me a piece of tartan. He then proceeded to very drunkenly sing me a very American love song.

Na Fir Dileas are a cultural, historical and heritage awareness group whose membership is open to all persons over the age of eighteen years regardless of their sex, race, creed or religion and providing that they agree to abide by the “rules and regulations” of Na Fir Dileas, and that they can prove themselves to be of high moral worth and good social standing.

 

Since I’m having an honest -share personal things with you- day, let me tell you about my disability.

Some of you know this, others don’t: I’m physically disabled.

I was born on September 30th, 1987, a full 12 weeks before I was supposed to be born. Premature birth was more common in the 80s for children born out of IVF.

My lungs were barely fully developed as I was still very small so I was ventilated. At some point on my first day, my lung collapsed and the pressure on my brain increased, causing me to have a hemorrhage, which did some serious damage.

I have, since that day, had cerebral palsy. For me, this means a left sided spasm (the entire left side of my body is affected) and even some traces of it in the right side of my body (like fine motor-function). Most people, when they think of spasm, think of involuntary flailing of limbs. This is not the case for me, but there is constant tension in my body and I can’t control the movements I make as precisely as I want.

So I walk funny. As a child there was never much of a problem with energy, but by the time I was sixteen, I needed a wheelchair for long distance trips. Now, when I walk, it’s with a walker. Getting older - and lack of exercise of those muscles that I can’t use - has made things a lot worse. I can’t walk without my orthopedic shoes without holding on to something anymore. My energy is drained MUCH faster than it used to be.

Still, I live in my own house, by myself. I have a part-time job (that I’ve had for three years) and a creative outlet. I’m not always happy, but I try to be.

Sometimes I feel really pressured when people call me an artist or praise me on my art

It makes me somehow feel obliged to live up to it and to do more art. It makes me sad that I sometimes can’t. It pressures me because people think they see someone who’s really good at something. But art is just a part of my life. It’s not as big a part as I would like it to be. I wish it was all. But that’s not all I am. And sometimes it makes me sad that all people see is that. And that they call me fortunate. Because I don’t always feel fortunate. 

My life is so much more, and it so much harder than it seems because those pieces of art are only small successes that don’t even out the hard things in life. They only cushion them.

I’m sorry if this is a selfish post. I’m sure that some of you will unfollow me now. And I’m sorry for that, too.