Who I Am, And The Power To Choose

Part of my commitment to this project is to reveal myself. I am working at that through my artwork each week, by giving you little tidbits behind each painting. Today I have no painting to uncover, just some random thoughts you might be able to relate to.

Now, I am a black and white, all or nothing type of person. I am extremely driven, sometimes to the point where I have to take a small does of Nyquil at night to slow my mind down. As some of you know, I gave up music about a year ago. I “laid it on the altar” as we Christians like to say. And so, in a stoic, “prowd to be this strong” way, I put down the guitar and picked up the paint brushes, and haven’t looked back. Everything was going great. In fact better than great. I had sold 25 paintings in 9 months. I was flabergasted, and beyond happy.

Then all of a sudden about a month ago, I was driving up to Nashville to use my Christmas gift certificate at Salon FX. As I exited the interstate at Demonbreum, my chest tightened. I made my way around the circle of “hillbilly porn” as some like to call it, and passed the ASCAP building headed towards the salon. Suddenly a rush of tears built in my eyelids. By now I was sitting in a parking space, tilting my head upwards so the water wouldn’t escape and leave stains on my face (not a good appearance for a massage appointment). I didn’t know that hurt was still there, that pain of immense failure. I had come to Nashville to “be somebody” and had horribly missed the mark. After the massage I was fine.

A day or so later this intense urge to play the guitar overcame me (I sold mine about 7 months ago), and that hurt wanted out again. I sat up in the living room in the dark that and cried. I let it out. I used to be afraid that if I felt the pain, then it made it real. Sometimes admitting to pain is the hardest part.

A week or so after these incidents, Joe and I went to an Encounter retreat. We were asked to write on a paper something we were committed to doing this year and why. I decided I’d get a guitar again, because deep down it still mattered to me. Just because I’m not headed to be super songwriter/singer doesn’t mean I can’t have a guitar. It doesn’t always have to be black or white. Grey is okay sometimes too.

A couple weeks have passed since our weekend retreat. I am not burdened or sad. I simply feel the freedom to choose. That, if I want to play guitar I can. If I don’t want to, then I don’t have to. But I do have the power to choose. A good friend of mind once told me, “You know Marisa, we are never less for creating something new.” She was talking about the fact that I had chosen to start painting. I didn’t understand that then, but I do now.