Life as a Full Time Artist: Day 1

Originally Published August 6, 2015

I recently left the (relative) security of a senior management position in corporate America to pursue my passion as an artist and writer. While my corporate job was creative and fulfilling to a degree, there was something missing. I needed something more. I made the decision last year (2014) that I would take the leap “some time next year.” In January of 2015 I once again said to someone “sometime next year.” That’s when it hit me. It is next year! So I had to put a real date on it. I decided July 31 would be a good one.

Last Friday, I packed up the last of my things, took a walk around the building, hugged some folks, and then left the building for the last time as a “colleague.”

In the days before my leap, several people had asked me, “What will you do on your first day?” My canned answered was, “Go to the passport office.” Not what they wanted to hear, but it was the truth. I’m going out of country later this year and I need a passport. So that’s all I had planned for my first day. Get that biggie out of the way, then I can think. Then I can focus.

I’ve been questioned and advised by many good intentioned supporters. “What’s the first thing you’re going to work on?” “Give yourself time to get organized.” “Take a little time off before you get started.” and “Do you have any events on your calendar yet?” The thing is, I’ve got so much on my mental “to do,” I need to take a minute and sort through it. Write it down. Organize it.

Here’s how day one really shook out:

  • Woke up at 6:30 (really? on my first day of self-employment?)
  • Arrived at 9:20 for my 10:00 passport meeting.
  • Realized I’d forgotten my checkbook. (The nice man processed everything and set it aside, advised me where to find a bank.)
  • Found said bank, obtained cashier’s check
  • Back to passport office. Task complete!
  • Back in my car. Now what?
  • Checked phone for anything exciting. Saw message from my writer friend, Susie, who sent me info on a “art collective” meeting that evening. Bonus!
  • Took a nostalgic drive to old neighborhoods, just because I could.
  • Stopped at Ruby Tuesday for lunch. Salad bar – good. Beer – because I could. Said yes to an upgrade to XL on the beer for only $2 more – maybe not so good. Three tiny (tasty) little cheesy biscuits that magically appeared on my table while at salad bar – evil!
  • Drove to The Global Mall. I’ve heard so much about it, I wanted to see. Nothing going on inside the mall on a weekday. Elected not to drive around back to see library and skating rink, as I was feeling the heat by then and also a little sleepy.
  • Home again. Nap.
  • Did some online research (seriously) along with some Facebooking.
  • Sent a couple of emails.
  • Made a couple of calls.
  • Made a sandwich for dinner.
  • Headed out for art collective meeting. Listened to a couple experts talk about branding. Good information. Some I’ve heard before, some not, but it was good to get out and do something related to my new career. (My friend Susie was so sweet to break away from her packing for a personal trip to make sure I knew someone at the meeting! )
  • Back in the car, heading home I returned a call from my friend Megan who had tried to reach me during the meeting. “So…how was your first day?” (My friends are really pretty awesome!)

Sending Out Negative Vibrations: Lesson Learned

Originally Posted June  30 2012:

I was reminded recently of the power of the law of attraction. It happened just last week. You see, as many of us do, I often find sayings and pictures on Facebook that I think are funny and repost them. Well last Tuesday evening, I stumbled across a drawing by someecards.com. It was of a woman with a wine glass. I had seen the same drawing before with another saying on it. The saying on this one was “Your dumb shit is what makes me want to get tanked at 11 am.”

I’m not gonna lie…it made me chuckle. And while there wasn’t anyone in particular who came to mind at that moment, I could think of several people who had the potential to cause me that level of frustration from time to time. So, even though it’s against my rule to post negative messages, I decided to share it.

Wednesday at 11:00 a.m. I had a training event scheduled, which I was to lead. I bet you can’t guess what happened? Yep – it blew up! The manager in attendance derailed it, challenged me in front of my team and completely undermined my authority to speak on my chosen topic. Nice.

I spent the next several days recovering from that incident, first getting over my anger with the manager and then forgiving myself for allow me to get so worked up about it, and finally, forgiving myself for allowing myself to fall into that particular situation. There were, after all, things I could have done differently that might have prevented or at least minimized the negative response of the manager.

It was last night that I remembered my posting of the ecard on Facebook. Lesson learned.

Dream: Getting Ready to Date

I am in a room full of people who are watching a live music performance. The room is set up with performance seating in front of the stage, then a wide aisle way between that seating and some random tables at the back.

I have been standing with a small group in the table section, but I decide I’d like to move closer to the stage so I can focus on listening to the music.

I don’t want to sit in the performance seating – it’s too crowded there. I see three folding chairs that have been lined up at the back of the aisle way between the seating and the tables. I sit in the chair on the left. After a minute, my friend George sits in the chair just to my right, but then shortly after asks if I will mind if he moves to the seating closer to the stage. I tell him to go ahead – I’m fine being here on my own. Just then I notice a very attractive, petite woman has taken the third seat, furthest to the right. George’s empty seat is between us. I turn my attention to the musicians on stage.

After a few minutes I turn my gaze to the right side of the room, scanning from the stage toward the front of the room. My eyes meet a guy whom I have met before (within the context of this dream) several times. It flashes to me at this time that each time has been just a quick encounter, and always with a strong feeling of connection. He is walking from the front of the room to the back, apparently on a mission, but when our eyes meet, he stops, backs up, and heads toward me. Big smile on his face. I smile in return. I am pleased he is happy to see me. He is tall, reasonably fit, with blonde hair and bright eyes. As he approaches, he literally crawls over the petite woman seated two chairs over and then onto the chair next to me. He is now lying, stomach down, with his legs on the woman and his torso on the other chair, propped up on his elbows. Somehow this puts his face at the same level with mine. I do not notice any expression or reaction from the other woman. My eyes are locked with Blondie’s. He leans toward me and plants a very deliberate, solid kiss on my lips, holding it for a few seconds for emphasis. When he pulls away, still smiling, he says, “Hello.” I say “Hello.” (smiling)

Now I am in a room upstairs, with my ex. We have been “just friends” for quite awhile, but he has always had a hard time with that. Ex is always wanting to “hang out” with me, and people who see us together assume we’re dating. This concerns me now (in my dream) because Blondie is downstairs and I don’t want him to get the wrong impression.

I do my best to convince Ex that he needs to leave; I want to spend this evening with my friends (who are not directly his friends). I tell him that I have met someone I may want to date, and I don’t want it to be awkward for him. He agrees to leave. I follow him down the stairs, and at the landing he pauses to chat with a couple of random people. Just as I reach the landing, he sobs, “My friend and I just broke up!” and then turns and leaves the building.

I am panicked, as my eyes search the room for Blondie. Where is he? Did he hear? Is there a need for damage control?

End of dream

OBSERVATIONS

This one is obvious to me – and I’m sure to anyone else reading. I am finally ready to date. But – it’s been three years since I moved out of my Ex’s house, and he is still hanging around and demanding my attention. While I will admit that I allowed lines to be crossed a couple of times in the first year or two, I have been very firm on boundaries for well over a year. It is an exhausting role at times, but I now know I cannot go back. That door has closed for me completely. I love my Ex. I genuinely care about what happens to him, and enjoy his company now and then. I am not “in love” with my Ex. I am ready to move forward into a new relationship.

I’m sure George is a part of this dream because the day after a recent party at my home, I got a text from my Ex asking if George was my new “boy toy.” I assured him he was not, and Ex said, “Okay, just wanting to get a lay of the land.”

It appears I won’t be able to date with my Ex still in my life. This may sound like a no-brainer to most, but I know people who have been able to stay friends of their ex’s. I guess it’s just not for me.

Coming Back Around To Letting Go

I never want to hurt anyone – even those who have hurt me. That’s not to say that I never do hurt anyone – only that it is never my intention to do so.

This is one of the reasons I am coming back around to letting go. Also:

  1. We’re not going anywhere
  2. I’m not “all in” – not fair to you
  3. I’ve been physically sick in some manner ever since I opened that door a crack (for the second time I might add) and you began wedging your foot into it, pushing sometimes gently, sometimes forcefully, trying to “gain purchase” into my life again. I said over and over “there won’t be a ’round three’,” and then I opened the door a crack.

It’s going to hurt for a minute – maybe longer – but I’ll be unwedging your foot now. It’s getting cold in here.

Repressed Grief

Watching the movie P.S. I Love You on TV.  About 40 minutes in I break into a major crying jag. First, the movie is really, really, sad. It’s about a young couple who have been married 9 years when the man gets a brain tumor and dies.  Shortly after, on the woman’s 30th birthday, she learns that her dead husband has arranged for her to receive letters from him at various intervals for the foreseeable future.

It was at the memorial service scene where I broke down. Nobody close to me as died recently, so why did it affect me so strongly?  I felt the pain and emptiness that comes with the loss of – someone in my life. It doesn’t take a death to cause that feeling. There are many losses that can hurt just as deeply.

I watched the movie the day after I had been locked out of my apartment because of an apartment fire in another unit in the building. I had not been home at the time of the fire and by the time I got home the fire had been put out and all emergency personnel had left the scene. I didn’t have any idea anything had happened while I was away. There were no notices posted anywhere and I had not received a phone call or an email. I had no clue. I found out about the fire because my garage door wouldn’t open.  I keep the privacy lock on at my front door because I always come and go through my garage. My apartment was locked down from the inside. I called the after hours maintenance contact, who filled me in about the fire and said that power had been cut off to my garage. Nice.

To top it off, instead of coming out to take care of my issue, Maintenance Guy sent an office resource to handle the job, and after an hour and a half, Office Boy had made no progress and had headed off to some undisclosed location to get something, and after ten minutes had not returned. So I called the after hours number again and left the message that it was after midnight so I was getting myself a hotel room and would present them with the invoice in the morning.

At around 7 a.m. the next morning I drove back to my apartment to see if they had by some miracle figured out how to open my garage door. They hadn’t. The leasing office at my complex normally opens at 9:00 a.m. during the week. I stopped by the leasing office to see if someone may have come in early to manage my issue. Nope. I drove back to my hotel, had breakfast, and then left a message with the leasing office asking that they call me as they are in so they could share with me their plan of action. Nobody called.

I drove back to the office at 9. When one of the other office staff members greeted me at the door I stated my name and apartment number. No recognition. I explained that I had been locked out of my apartment all night and stayed in a hotel. I handed her the invoice. Across the room I saw Office Boy. He clearly had not told anyone what had happened the night before.  Neither had Maintenance Guy. Really?

I was told I would have to wait to see the Office Manager because she was currently speaking with another tenant who had been affected by the fire. The tenant lived in the apartment below the unit where the fire occurred. She had experienced water damage. But she had still been able to get into her apartment and sleep in her own bed.

When I was ushered over to Office Manager, I shoved the hotel invoice at her and told her my story. She apologized profusely. She had had no idea this had happened. Clearly, but there was no excuse for that. She offered to have the amount of my hotel stay deducted from my next month’s rent. “Not acceptable,” I told her. I had just paid my rent for the month and wasn’t interested in waiting around for a month to get my money back. She said she would have to call “Corporate” and she would do her best to get me what I wanted.

I left the office still angry and feeling patronized…but also feeling something else. Helplessness…neglect. I had showered at the hotel, but had had to dress in the same clothes from the day before – don’t ask about my underwear. I couldn’t go to work that way. What was I supposed to do?

I drove to the parking garage at my job, turned off my car and sat for a minute. My phone rang. It was Office Manager. Did I know my garage door was open, she asked? Had I gone over that way when I left the leasing office? “No,” I told her. “You said your maintenance supervisor was just on his way over.” “Well, the door is open already,” she said. “You can get into your apartment now.”

Fast forward to the end of the day. I spoke with a lawyer who said I should take the offer to credit the hotel bill against my next month’s rent.  Sigh. But, good news (relatively speaking), I have a brand new garage door opener (something about “the  event” had damaged the wiring in the previous opener). And the leasing office’s Corporate office approved an immediate refund of my hotel expense. Vindication.

Back to the movie which I’m watching at the end of a day of feeling angry, patronized, frustrated and…helpless. So of course I would be a little extra emotional watching a very sad movie. But it’s more than that. What had this story of loss triggered inside of me? Which wound had it ripped open, jagged edges inflamed and leaking fresh blood? The feeling was so familiar.

It was the sense of helplessness on being locked out of my home twice while living with my alcoholic boyfriend because he was passed out drunk inside and had locked the house from the inside. Both times there was nothing I could do to get in except break a window, which would have wakened the neighborhood, or call the police (which would also wake the neighborhood and also intensify the sense of humiliation associated with the situation.)  I chose to find another place to spend the night.

It was the hurt of knowing that no matter how much love I showed my boyfriend and how genuinely loving and caring he was toward me when he was sober, he was still willing to lie to me when he was drunk. He would lie about being drunk and never lost his determination to defend himself against all reason. It felt insulting to me.

It was also the sense of loss I felt after finally leaving my alcoholic boyfriend and then attempting to remain friends with him so I can support him through his journey to sobriety…something he wasn’t willing to do while I was still the romantic interest in his life. There is still a big hole in my soul for losing my best friend to alcohol. It’s a hole I’ve been reluctant to try to fill again. I have had one date in the year and a half since I moved out. I just don’t have it in me to go another round.  I guess I have some work to do myself.

Dream: Late For The Wedding

This was a dream within a dream. In the dream I dreamt that I was to be the bridesmaid in a wedding and on the day of the wedding kept getting delayed in one way or another…going down the wrong street, getting lost, passing streets and doorways that I should have been familiar with…and sliding in just in time, but other members of the wedding party had had to do much of what I felt was my responsibility as the maid of honor.

In this dream, I awoke and realized it was a dream and was very relieved, because I was, in fact, to be the maid of honor in a wedding. And as luck would have it, I proceeded to have the same experience as I had dreamt (in my dream)…getting lost, missing obvious signposts and doorways, etc., and getting to the wedding almost too late.

Peppered throughout my dream were references to people from my past with whom I have not kept in touch. One specifically was a guy who had reported to me at one time and in this dream (the second version, where I was supposedly awake), he was along for the ride, trying to help me, but not able to help which I believe is because I was “calling the shots” and not following his suggestions. He just laid low and let me go through my motions and was always there along the way, even as I arrived at the location of the wedding, obviously very late.

OBSERVATIONS:

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about my writing and the fact that I haven’t published “my book” yet…and that I’m now 50 years old, and hoping I’ll get my act together and regain my focus soon because I feel my time is running out. I’m 50. People in my “circle” are beginning to drop off, and I wonder if I’ve wasted too much of my time. Am I “too late for the wedding?”

In my dream people are depending on my and I’m not getting to the place I need to be. Is that a suggestion that I – in my non-dream life – am not getting to the place I need to be?

Lately the first lines of a poem I wrote when I was a 14 keeps running through my head. “Poor Sadie was a simple child, her parents died so young. She thought her sad life over before it had begun.” I wonder if it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I hope not.

Sadie

Poor Sadie was a simple child, her parents died so young;

She thought her sad life over before it had begun.

She lived through all her writings, the thoughts she held inside;

But if someone should come near, her feelings she would hide.

She wrote of things that pleased her and things misunderstood;

Hoping that somehow, someday, her thoughts would do some good.

She thought so much her head ached, but she wrote down every line;

And if a thought was hidden it came to her in time.

As she grew her thoughts expanded with every passing day;

And she carefully thought each detail as she wrote her life away.

She wrote like this for years, though it seemed so short a time;

For life was such a word, that it needed more than lines.

And when her time had come, she noticed much too late;

Her words had helped no one, and age had closed the gate.

What she had left were feelings, in her attic to remain;

And so poor Sadie left this world as quietly as she came.

Dream: He Doesn’t Need Me Anymore

Though I don’t really know them, within the context of my dream, the people I was with were co-workers. We’re traveling back to (office? party location?) where we started our trip and we’re all in a yellow school bus. As we drive along, I see along the side of the road, my ex “John,” who (in my dream) I know has some sort of debilitating disease – something like MS – so that he’s in a wheelchair – slowly losing muscle control over a period of time. When he was healthy he was very athletic (in real life he’s an avid bicyclist).

In this roadside scene, John is out for a “ride/race” in his wheelchair and has gotten as far as he can considering the road conditions, so he has stopped and making his way into some other sort of box with wheels contraption, which I understand to be a kind of transfer vehicle to get him past whatever is in his way in the road. There are people there helping him. (That is the key message here, by the way.) As we pass him in our bus I see him, but don’t tell anyone I know him or that I’ve noticed him. But…I immediately begin to worry about him and feel guilty about not being there for him.

After we arrive back to our base location (office/party location) I find myself on my own – other co-workers are congregating in another area of the space – so I feel like it will be safe for me to “wander” downtown to the area where I expect John to be…so I can check up on him and make sure he’s okay. I know where he lives – in an old apartment downtown. The town in my dream is older and the apartments seem a bit run down there. John lives in a second floor apartment – over a bar. (Interesting, since in real life “John” is an alcoholic.)

As I head down the street to search out John, I’m taking a “back alley” or back hallway kind of route. It’s kind of a street fair atmosphere…there are lots of vignettes of carnival-like things and I stop at some on the way, but I’m mostly looking in from the back side of them or wandering through them, but not really participating. I have a sense of being invisible/behind the scenes so the people who are participating don’t know I’m there.

About half way there I run into a (true) former co-worker of mine. I see her inside one of the carnival vignettes and think to myself that…since she’s alone…maybe it would be safe to reveal myself to her so I would have someone to talk to about…things. I approach her and we begin talking…about nothing in particular…and we continue moving together down the street, but now we’re actually in the streets as we go.

———————————————————-

I don’t think I ever make it to John, but the general feeling around this dream was that I was feeling guilty for not “being there” for John, but at the same time, I knew there were other people helping him along and so he was doing just fine without me.

Dream: My Art Show

I’m going to have an art show with just my work in my house, which has several rooms in it. There is a large main room where the art will be displayed – on a large table placed in the center of the room. I have a couple paintings on easels there but have not fully set up my display, as I have other details to attend to…food, etc. to be coordinated. I have “hired” another artist to stay in a smaller room where guests will enter and leave and presumably, pay for their purchases. He arrives and I leave him to get situated in that space. Meanwhile I’m still busy with lots of detailed related to hosting people in my home but have not yet gotten my art set up. People are arriving and now I’m busier than ever.

In my frenzy I make a pass through the small “check in / check out” room and find that the artist has set up his artwork on the tables in the room where he is supposed to be setting up for guest sign in and cash out. I am furious and choose to relieve him of his duties, presumably sending him on his way. The dream never gets that far, but as I’m arguing with the artist and reprimanding him for his actions I am fully aware that I have not gotten my own display set up and people are beginning to leave without having even viewed my art.

THOUGHTS:
I spend so much time always preparing the “business” side of things that I don’t get around to creating my art, much less finding opportunities to display it.

Dream: Just Ask For Something Different

I’m in a looping dream – like the movie “Ground Hog Day.” It is a short loop that begins with me running from a “bad guy” and ends with him shooting me in the foot – or more specifically, in my toes. Every time. Each time I cycle through this dream loop I know what is going to happen but feel powerless to change it. I just repeatedly go through the anxiety of knowing the bad guy is going to shoot me every time.

After several rounds of this I finally do something different. This time I’m near the end of a loop (just before the bad guy shoots me) and I say out loud, “anything different, just so I don’t get shot.” This time I get away from the bad guy before he shoots me. I wake up to spasms in the toes on one foot.

THOUGHTS:
When my life is in an endless loop of the same thing over and over, all I have to do is ask for something different. I know it works because I’ve done it before. So, why am I hesitating to do it again?

The most recent (significant) example of this working for me was last summer. Shortly before I gave notice at my job I spent one evening saying over and over, “I don’t care what kind of work I do, as long as I enjoy it.” A few days after I gave notice my manager pulled me aside and offered me another role on our team – one that could potentially make a difference in at least some of the areas that had caused me to feel frustration.

Call To Action

I received a message the other day, but I didn’t hear it until now. I didn’t feel it.

It was a call from my mother’s cousin “Barb”, whom I’ve never met nor spoken with in my life. Barb was reaching out to me in hopes I might be able to get her in touch with my mother’s brother – her cousin. She got to me through my sister, whom she met at my mother’s funeral several years ago. (Why I wasn’t at my mother’s funeral is a story for another time.)

Sadly, I wasn’t able to connect her with her cousin – my uncle – because, as my mother explained to me when I was twelve, her family disowned her (and the rest of us) when she divorced my father. She went on to explain that her brothers were both very religious and so they didn’t believe in divorce. So…I was disowned by my mother’s family at the age of twelve because of a disagreement between my mother and her brothers. Sounds fair.

Barb and I talked for over an hour, and as it turns out we have a few things in common, i.e., her father discouraged/prevented her from communicating with her extended family; we both married quite young and subsequently divorced and then spent most of our adult lives single, feeling we were better off being fully responsible for our own destinies (or at least as much as one can be).

I believe things happen for a reason – and so, since Barb’s call last Sunday evening, I’ve been turning this over in my head trying to figure it out. Why me? Why now?

In the course of a morning meditation, it came to me:

For over ten years I’ve been sitting on a family-related project – my memoir. Over the years I’ve gone back and forth from feeling the story should be told to feeling I should keep it to myself. I thought I had put that argument to bed a few years ago, but now here it is again.

Since my early teens I’ve felt my purpose in this world was to write. So far I’ve not been successful at my attempts to erase the “you can’t earn a living as a writer” tape that has been running a continuous loop in my head since I first had the audacity to share my dream with my family some thirty years ago – trusting that they would be supportive.

But here’s the thing: I don’t just think I should be a writer. I know that I am a writer. And yet I find myself still working a corporate job (where, by the way, I write…business requirements).

The idea of going out on my own has been spinning in my brain for…ever. I have had two separate opportunities to transition into “self-supporting artist/writer” in the last ten years, but I’ve never felt really, truly ready, and so in both cases I spun my wheels in various other directions rather than focusing my energy on the thing I was put on earth to do.

So what’s holding me up from going out on my own? Whatever it is, I need to get over it. I feel that if I don’t take action now I never will. I turn 50 this year. It’s shit or get off the pot time, kids!

I’ve got a story to tell. I believe Barb’s call was yet another nudge from the Universe. It’s time for me to take that manuscript down off the shelf, dust it off and get back to work! My life story is one that should be told. If for no other reason, because I need to tell it!

(It should be noted that I actually wrote this piece on 6/29/11. I’m just now posting it on 5/12/12. ‘Nuf said.)