If I had to pick a word for this year, it would be….
My poor friends listen to me complain about my job endlessly. I am so grateful to be working, but my real dream is to be selling my artwork and actually make a decent living at it, to make enough to help support my family and pay bills. That is what I want to do all day long. Paint, sculpt, sew, create.
I came into blogging painting furniture and murals. While I enjoyed it; I’ve always harbored a secret desire to really dig deep and find out what artistic talent I really had in there. When I create, I am lost in a timeless land. Three hours slip by like 5 minutes.
The thing is, when I was 19 and just finishing up my Associate’s degree in Arts, I really felt unsure what direction I should go. I felt like I should have a job that I could support myself on and not be some starving artist like the typical stereotype, but what to do? Do I go onto a bigger college? Do I keep on pursuing art? Can I make any money at it? Where do I go? Do I try to get a job? What job? I was undecided and ambled. It’s hard to be 19 and decide your entire life.
So, to make a long story short, I fell hard for a fireman and became an EMT. He dumped me, yet I still found I enjoyed medicine and the excitement that came with the job running the ambulance and driving the rigs. So in my youth, I left my art behind and moved onto getting my firefighter II / paramedic with a furious, focused energy.
I really loved it, a lot. Don’t get me wrong. Even though it was a hard road as the first female firefighter in my department ( that’s another story all together, these were the days before ladies in bunker gear was mainstream.), I was a pretty good firefighter and a really good paramedic ; I even got to save a few lives and put out a few fires, but it wasn’t a true passion for me. And it didn’t always come easy. It was really hard work. I have no problem with hard work, but every step was like swimming upriver emotionally and physically. I’m pretty short and had to do a big guys job. Even though I could bench press over 165 pounds and leg press over 350 (no kidding) my back and body started to give out from all over the extra demands. I spent 2-3 hours in a gym every day just to keep up. When my body hurt all of the time and I was married and wanted to have a family, I knew it was time to move on even though it was a very hard decision.
Again, I was drifting.
So, when I “retired” I ambled for a while. I became a really bad personal trainer, did a few busted craft shows, considered medical school but decided that road was too long and I finally started working for the health care company I work for today. Then, I had my kids and made a home, painted some furniture, but something was missing. A tiny piece.
Until this year.
I decided that this year was going to be the year. 2011. The year I became serious about doing what I should’ve done literally 20 years ago. And be successful at it.
So, I go into my little studio every day after work that I share with the dryer, dirty socks and the canned goods and do what I love best. What I have a passion for. Luckily, my wonderful husband is very supportive of me giving it my best shot. And if I do fail, at least I can say I tried my hardest, was grateful for what I had, and gave the rest up to God. He’s there, I can feel it. That way, if I am still complaining about my job this time next year, I know I did my best and it just wasn’t meant to be.
I want to make this happen. I want to prove to my old self that my young self should have followed her heart. That you should always follow your passion even if you’re unsure, and that success can still come between peri-menopause and class-party volunteer.
Because good things come to those who wait, right?
Because I am serious.
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