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The Zen of Painting
I can’t paint worth a lick. I know that. I don’t need anyone to tell me. But I don’t care. I don’t paint for you; I paint for me. It makes me smile.
I’ve always been what you could call a nervous sort, uptight, a bit high strung. My biggest concerns were doing what’s right, fitting in, toeing the line, all things that for one reason or another, never came easy to me.
Growing up, I was always messing up. I was, as my mother would say, intent on learning the hard way. To counteract the consequences of taking the hard road, I was determined to be a top citizen as an adult, top student, top mother, top wife, top daughter, all with a top job and an all-around top life. I twisted myself into knots to fit into the image I had of a woman who had it all, three beautiful baby boys, working nights while graduating top of my university undergraduate class. Then onto law school where I again distinguished myself academically and went on to gain a coveted position in the region’s top law firm.
I was living the dream, someone else’s dream, only I didn’t know it. My life had taken on a momentum of its own. Each day was reduced to a seemingly never-ending to-do list. No real excitement, no real passion. Of course, there were happy moments, but overall, no real reason to get up in…
