There was a point in my life when convention ruled my every moment. I had the house, the kids, the career. I was associated with the right groups. I participated in the right activities, read the right books and listened to the right radio stations. My life had become conventional. My only adventure was railing at the elements as my car got stuck in the snow…again.
Whatever happened to the imaginative kid who climbed into department store trash bins and brought home treasures? The kid who wanted to work out a solution for a better tire inner tube? Make a running go-cart out of a broken lawn mower engine? All that got swallowed into the convention void.
I was doing everything “right” but was extremely unhappy. Somewhere along the line I was misled. Convention did not satisfy. I became suicidal.
While wallowing in this darkness, I heard a whisper, “Dare to jump?”
At that low point in my life, I could have easily pulled over on the freeway and leapt off an overpass.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I doodled.
I doodled, and drew, and drew and doodled. In meetings, at church, at conferences I was known to draw. I began to not care so much about how I was “supposed” to act, about convention because these doodles fed my soul. I began getting in touch with myself, rediscovering that kid who always made “stuff”.
I knew from the time I was four years old that I was going to be an artist when I grew up. Convention, however, robbed me of that vision. I had surrounded myself with myths about the Artist: the tortured, self-indulgent freak who can never make a decent living.
As I doodled and re-introduced myself to me, I realized I had a choice to make. I could remain sorely depressed in the conventional world, or, I could jump and become the person I was designed to be: an artist.