TELL YOUR OWN STORY…

and you will be interesting…

I suppose I’ve been trying to tell my story since, well, as long as I can remember. Much of it, I’m too embarrassed to tell. I think this may be the reason I’ve been all over the place in terms of career paths, relationships, political and social ideals…it also explains the shows I binge watch. Anyway-no need to get into semantics, the fact of the matter is-as an artist, (don’t worry-I’m going to explain the pic I’ve posted momentarily) I can’t afford the luxury of embarrassment.

I came across a piece in New York magazine (November 26-December 9, 2018) while doing what most people do in the lieu when they are passing time-reading stuff I’d probably have no interest in if I wasn’t “ahem…handling business.” As a writer, I’ve always considered myself an artist-in addition to creating with words, I’ve always liked to draw, the desire was re-awakened during the undertaking of my second graduate degree-this time in childhood education. You’d be amazed at the underlying dreams and unawakened desires you have when you are forced to think like a child. When you are able to come face to face with who you really are and who other people thought you should be.

Don’t get me wrong-I have 7 year-olds. I want them to have a prosperous and successful future-I want them to do better than I have. I don’t want them to take expensive advanced degrees and circle the world looking for answers that were always revealed to them-but because of the expectations of others, they failed to realize. The end result is misery. I refuse that for my children.

The greatest threat to pursuing one’s passion is fear-I’ve always been a victim to it.

I want to break the cycle. All I’ve ever wanted to do is use art to say something. To get people to listen to me, because I wasn’t always the best communicator. It kinda pisses me off that I had to go $40,000 into debt to come to this realization. Hopefully, this post (in addition to that enlightening, article in The New Yorker,) will motivate skeptical, fearful creatives, that there is a place for them in this world and their voices are necessary. I just realized how important mine was and how I could use it…

THE DRAWING

Yeah..yeah…I’m no artist, but after buying those expensive drawing pencils and learning shading and all that, I figured I was. Rule number 1: Don’t be embarrassed: turns out I always had it in me and, again-there’s something I needed to say…

TOO STRAIGHT

The assignment was to come up with extremes and to draw a character to represent them. I came up with Too Straight. Here is her story.

Too Straight was always the center of attention, whether she wanted it or not. Her hair was bone straight, black and thick as the darkest night. Her eyes and mouth were straight too-dark slits that let in only what they wanted.

Too Straight was envied by everyone, boys and girls, adults and children-she was too everything; too pretty, too smart, too sweet, too well dressed, too well mannered, and well, you get the point.

Too found Straight life damned difficult. She found it difficult to maintain relationships-romantic and otherwise. Too straight could not bend.

As a result of her thin, straight lined life, she was unable to express the frustration she felt at wanting to bend, but being unable to. Nobody listened, nobody cared. Too Straight was too straight. It was her cross to bear.

Too Straight was lonely.

One night, sad, alone and frustrated, Too Straight wanted to walk. She found a straight path and started her journey. The stretch of road she chose was as black, the road as long as her hair. Finally she came to a place. She didn’t know where she was. But the door was open.

Too Straight entered.

She never came out.

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