Starts and Stops

Ready, set, GO!

Then stop. Restart. Take a step back. Rush forward.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if life moved in a straight and consistent line? I’ve heard that for some people it moves that way. They make a plan. The plan moves steadily forward towards a goal. Sometimes there is a speed bump or a jolt that derails the plan, but for the most part it’s pretty constant. Or at least that’s what it looks like from the outside.

I’m more of a wanderer I guess. Taking in the pieces of life that come at me sideways is both frustrating and exhilarating. A joyful beautiful day in the garden inspires me more than sitting at the computer. And then in a mad rush I can spend days online, doing all the dirty work that’s needed to try to run a successful business. I make schedules and to-do lists, then gleefully throw them out the window and go for a ride instead. Covered in paint and mud. Breathing in all the goodness of living. 

Is that a bad thing? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just me. Or maybe it’s a darker disbelief in my ability to actually be successful. A grumpy little sneaking goblin telling me I’m a fool. 

Whatever it is, I like to think that my path will be a beautiful one. I don’t really care where it ends up so much as I care about valuing each step. There are achievements I want to make along the way, and I’d be lying if I said they didn’t matter. They do. But I don’t want to miss the joy of feeling my legs running and heart pounding because I’m only looking at the end. There’s really no end anyway, is there?

Who do I think I am?

It seems so pretentious. Whenever someone asks what I do I say “I’m an artist,” followed by a little shame. Who am I to say I’m an artist? Who do I think I am to compare myself to those geniuses that hang in galleries and museums?

I’m nobody. And the only thing I have in common with Renoir is a love of painting. A love of art. A dream.

That’s what artists are. They are dreamers. There is something inexplicably inside that says I need to paint. To write. To show the world I see the beauty and the pain and all the glorious moments of just living.

Am I really an artist? Maybe. But it is always a journey. It’s always about the first step, then the next, then the one after. So here I am. Taking the first steps.

So who am I? I’m so glad you asked. I am a middle aged woman, whose done all the woman things. Mom to many, lucky enough to be with my soulmate. I had an unfulfilling career as a housewife, and an even less fulfilling career in office management. I was very good at both, and found a lot of joy and accomplishment. But here I am, just turned 40, and I know that life moves so fast. It goes by in an instant. We stress and worry and climb ladders to what end?

I want to step off the ladder. I want to live in a way that I feel my life hasn’t been a lie to myself. I want to experience every adventure and joy in triumph and heartbreak. I want to be able to speak to the world. Hopefully, my art will carry those words on the wind and reach the souls that hear them.

I am an artist, a creative, a human being floating around the universe until my atoms return to the stars they came from. I am alive and joyful and scared and so damn lucky to get to experience this life and pain.

I think that today I am me.