School was a struggle, not from of lack of intelligence, but lack of focus. Back then I was the weird girl who loved woodshop class.
Even down the road, I was convinced that I had to always keep moving to be happy. My 9-5 (realistically 9-8) jobs in marketing and advertising felt overwhelmingly stifling and frustrating to me. But as a single mom, it was the best way I knew to support myself and my son, so I stuck it out for years. As hard as I tried to fit into the corporate group dynamic, I never could.
My mother is an artist and use to try and get me to paint ever since I can remember. She gave me paints, brushes and canvases, which I moved with me from one home to the next, still in their packages, never used. She would tell me it was the cure for what ails you, but I didn’t get it. Yearning for an active and adventurous life, I could not imagine sitting still for hours painting something.
The symptoms started in my mid-twenties and it took several years to figure out, but I was eventually diagnosed with a rare form of cancer called carcinoid. Along with the questionable treatment for it, I was told I had to take it easy and lighten my workload.
So, after careful consideration, I rationally decided to quit my job and buy fixer homes to remodel…myself. That was my version of taking it easy. I loved it and it made me happy, most of the time. Not long after my spontaneous career change, I ran into an old work buddy who had returned to his Alaskan roots as a commercial fisherman. He convinced me that an adventurous vacation on a purse seiner, catching king salmon near the Bering Sea, would be the next logical step. Isn’t that what any average person diagnosed with a rare disease would do?
For three years I bounced from remodeling homes in Washington State to commercial fishing in Alaska, to brine shrimp harvesting on the Great Salt Lake. The third and final year, I lost someone I deeply cared for. He was tragically killed while doing a very hazardous job.
I’m not sure if it was the devastation of losing him as I helplessly watched, or if my denial had finally worn off…maybe both? My invincibility shield instantly dissolved, and soon after returning home I was in the hospital undergoing a very dangerous surgery to save my life.
The recovery was long and painful and followed by countless complications, so I knew that my adventurous days were over, for a while at least. Being a person who only identified with doing and moving, I began to sink into a dark place. I was feeling sorry for myself, continuing to mourn my dear friend and my identity.
I’m a person who only feels worth while if I can see what I’ve accomplished, something tangible. Everyday that went by just made me more depressed and less whole.
It took a while; I’m not going to pretend like it happened overnight. The cliché of being sick and tired of being sick and tired, was an understatement. But it finally hit me; “the cure for what ails you”! I scrounged through boxes, until I found the paints, brushes and canvases, still in their packages, never used, and I began to paint…
Now, painting brings much happiness and peace and it's ignited a whole new adventure in my life. I've had exhibitions from Seattle to Manhattan to Los Angeles and I'm enjoying the ride.
Crystal Sea~
www.CrystalSeaGallery.com