Sometimes we must lose ourselves to find ourselves

When I was a kid, there was extraordinarily little room for fantasy and imagination. My parents were stoic in their resolve to raise their children with three solid quotes in life:

They call it work because it's not something you want to do.

Dreams and wishes are for wealthy people who can afford to waste time on what might not make money.

If you're not very smart, you better pray to have a strong back.

So, my parents surely thought they had a cuckoo in the nest. My grades in school were terrible. My teachers would tell them that I was bright and creative, just not talented in those subjects. My parents heard, "Take away her drawing paper, fantasy novels, and music. Those distractions are the problem." Taking away the things that made me happy never raised my GPA in the slightest.

I knew I wanted to write books, make art, and sing. My parents solidly informed me I would be a nurse. I wasn't gifted enough to be a doctor, but nurses made solid money. My brother, they told me, would go into computers as he was intelligent. His grades were always extremely high, and my father, in particular, believed computers were the up-and-coming thing. To my family, a desirable career would be in an office using one of those computers.

I stubbornly refused to conform, fighting the push for nursing school until I was on my own. I soon discovered I had to pay rent and had a marriage with someone who found keeping employment a bit challenging. I realized to my horror that the child who wanted to make art was the unhappy woman working a job she hated and living a life with little joy. Those mantras of adult sensibility and work being hard rather than fun had seeped into me; I was living it.

I knew that the droning occupation had to stop. No one should ever cry on the way to work because they dread the day to come. I knew my marriage had broken, and when I returned to an empty house one day, I was not surprised. A part of me thought, "new beginnings all around," and refused to wallow in rejection and self-pity. So, I took a marker and a sheet of cardboard and drew a phoenix. It had been years since I sat for an extended amount of time and drew. I spent hours on it, reflecting on how I was going to spend my time being creative.

I bought a used sewing machine and made a costume to go to a renaissance fair. It was an impulse decision and something that my family would never understand. I spent a day wandering in and out of stalls of hand-crafted arts and crafts, I talked to people I didn’t know. The artisans wanted to talk about their art, and I discovered that while they were not wealthy, the craftsmen found happiness and contentment in their work. None of them had sinking dread at waking up and going to work. One gentleman who was a potter asked me if I was living paycheck to paycheck now. When I confided yes, he said, “Then why not do that with something you are passionate about.” I joined a historical re-creation group and found other creative people who taught me embroidery, more sewing skills and encouraged me to draw and paint. More importantly they didn’t think I was insane to give up on a career that made me miserable.

When the divorce was final, I got work in cities I had never been to and filled sketch pads. I kept making art with fabric, paper, embroidery thread, and whatever else I could get. It didn't matter. If I could express myself artistically, I tried it. I bought a computer and wrote ridiculous stories about vampires, werewolf state troopers, and fairies who ran independent coffee shops. Instead of weeks of depression and the constant thought of, "another day down, two million days till retirement," I was excited to send out stories, collect rejections, and paint new canvases. I hadn't found success by the measurement I was raised with, but fulfillment was happening.

Then the day came when working at a Renaissance Fair in upstate New York brought me into the orbit of another creative soul. Taryn, my friend at the fair, needed to build and create something as well. Together, using my art and her business savvy, we made an inexpensive tarot deck. It sold. People loved my art. I then won a writing contest and co-created more products. Am I fabulously wealthy? No, I have a lot of times when I nervously look at my bank account. What I do have is the satisfaction of doing work I enjoy and am proud to share. I have less medication for chronic depression since I no longer work to be an inauthentic person. In permitting myself to discard invalid ideas of what life and work should be and granting myself the liberty to create, I have given myself the freedom to fail, and more importantly, try. I write stories no one may ever read and paint canvases no one may ever buy, but that is fine with me. The peace and satisfaction I get from following my path is better than any pharmaceutical or doctrine of being a drone.

Success came at taking a leap, trusting myself to be talented and creative, and believing that I am good enough. I live my life now with only one regret; that I didn't throw off my old life sooner. I have replaced my former life’s quotes with I think better ones that reflect who I am the importance of crafting no matter the medium.

I think the person who takes a job in order to live - that is to say, for the money - has turned himself into a slave. Joseph Campbell

Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls. Joseph Campbell

Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep. Scott Adams