What Do You Think You're Doing?

"Ridiculous. How do you think you are going to make money at art? You only have a little bit of talent. Countless people with far more talent have given up."

So I begin, steeped in self-doubt, questioning my own sanity, feeling bashful and foolish whenever I confide in a friend. And yet, this is the path I feel called to, to at least give it a shot, to learn whatever lessons lie ahead down this mystery-shrouded road. Trying to set aside the doubts and the fears, I push myself to step away from my very entrenched passivity and take a risk, forging my own path for the first time in a very, very long time.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. This was supposed to be the year life got easier. Instead, newly-separated from the father of my three children, I find myself in a new, lonelier predicament, trying to figure out (once again) how to make ends meet. The sadness never leaves me, but I can ignore it when I'm with friends, focusing on our conversation, trying not to make it all about me and my latest angst-ridden developments.

I tried applying for a number of jobs I could do from home so as not to further disrupt the lives of my homeschooled children, but did not meet with success. In the past, I have been rewarded with employment after very little effort, and in my worn-down and discouraged state, I find myself less resilient and motivated than before. I started looking at free-lance coding and took an SQL exam, expecting to ace it (though I haven't written many queries in the past five years). I didn't do well (at all). Another blow.

I told myself I was waiting to hear back from the one job opportunity where I had progressed beyond the first step, deciding against applying for seasonal retail, since I'm taking the boys several states away to be with my family over the holidays. Maybe this one dream job was the answer. In the meantime, I picked up the calligraphy sets my generous aunt had gifted me with a couple of Christmases past and tried to get up the confidence to attempt some Fraktur. I finally started with a few short verses, decorated very sparingly with folk art motifs I'd seen. And then I stalled.

I originally had intended to create some Fraktur for my parents' 50th wedding anniversary over the summer, but too intimidated and listless to even attempt it, abandoned the idea as the milestone came and went. It still fascinated me, though, and I started to think the unthinkable. Maybe, just maybe, I could make a little money at art.