No Regrets

Recently, I came to the realization that my 50th birthday was less than a few months away, and I've completely stagnated (mostly at work but somewhat in life also). Coinciding with this realization was a series of what seem to be cosmically-related events:

• My path crossed with several people I greatly admire who are working as artists. They've encouraged me to consider doing the same - that I "have what it takes."
• I've been welcomed into a group of self-employed creatives - artists, designers, writers, musicians - who share information, tips, help and support on their work and business at Creative Juice.
• I accidentally came across THIS blog post (note: the blog is pretty amazing to begin with, you might want to bookmark it for future reference).
• And I read THIS article (containing what might be my favorite line ever: "Pressure a creative to finish a piece in a timeframe with which he or she isn't comfortable, and you better be prepared for a nuclear explosion.")
• A former art school mate and friend I've not seen in almost 20 years got in touch with me through this blog. He has his own studio and gallery and is self-employed selling his ceramics.
• I ran into (literally, bumped into during a weekend run) a good friend from the Zoo who reminded me of what it was like to have a job I was really passionate about (at the Zoo) - when I felt I was making a difference in the world.

I had to descend into some serious soul-searching. My current job (web developer at the Cleveland Museum of Art) is awesome for many reasons: the institution is great, the work is steady and oftentimes engaging, and the pay and benefits are generous. But there are no growth opportunities in the near future and my creative side is longing for an outlet. Real development projects at work are few and far between and my job rarely finds me problem solving or utilizing my more-than-fifteen years of web development experience. Boredom has set in - the monotony of the daily grind. There are no perks: I rarely get away from my desk (the unfortunate life of a computer programmer), I spend about two hours a day in the car during rush hours, I only get two weeks of vacation per year, and my hours are, you guessed it: nine to five. I worrying about time for training. Or for art. Or, most importantly, for my family.

Frazzled one night at my drawing desk, I blurted my anxieties out to my husband Jim. My potential solution was simple: to quit Ironman (maybe quit racing altogether). It seemed like the logical solution in this consumer-driven work-yourself-to-the-bone-retire-and-die world. Keep your day job, right? I'll never change the world as a triathlete. In the end, no one cares where, when, and how I raced. And I was tired of only taking vacation time to go to races. No time to relax. Something had to give, and I had to make the "right" choice. Geez, I sound like my parents, don't I?

Jim wasn't thrilled to say the least. He reminded me that triathlon is something I love. (He's right.) And I had just bought a new bike. I spent the rest of the night crying and arguing with him.

We both knew that there was another choice: to quit my job. (Giving up my art wasn't a choice - it's always been something I have to do. Denying it wouldn't solve anything and it would keep me awake at night.)

Thus, we entered many weeks of struggling with what it meant for me to quit a full-time job and income and become a self-employed artist and web consultant. I confided in my closest friends, especially the ones who were working as artists. They listened to me rant: about not yet giving myself a chance as an artist, about my misgivings of not having a steady income and living off my husband, and about my fears of trying to sell myself. (Note: selling myself is the scariest thing in the world because I rarely find reason to even LIKE myself.) And yet, my friends and Jim continued to lend support and advice. One of the things everyone told me was that I could "be thankful [I] have a supportive partner."

Strangely, what this life-changing decision came down to was a bunch of cliches posted by friends on my Facebook wall or muttered during the struggle - things like "Making a big life change is scary. Regret is even scarier." That's what it kept coming back to. I never want to know that I was afraid to take a risk because it was just too risky. And so I took the leap. And I resigned from my (awesome) job. And now I'm nervous - no, terrified. And I keep asking myself that same question over and over - what if I fail?

But there's also one question I keep forgetting to ask: what if I succeed?

Here are my two latest lino prints:

Morning Inspiration 1

Morning Inspiration 2

Change Up

These days, soaking in ink is my usual state of being.

Just because I've not posted in a while - not posted in this blog space, that is - doesn't mean I don't have something to post. In fact, I'm crazy busy. But I'm desperately trying to be LESS crazy busy. I'm trying to get to a place where I can sleep at night without worrying about how I'm going to get everything done. And strangely, the things that I worry about getting done are things like my art and my training. I worry about work too. But my "work" worries have become things like: "How am I going to make it through the day on four hours of sleep?" and "Is there anything in my programming future that's more exciting than what I'm doing now?"

Thus, my work worries are also worrying me.

It's a vicious cycle that needs to stop.

The print production process

Anyway, I HAVE been posting... on Tumblr. Mostly because it's images and mostly because it involves very few words. I post my art and the process of creating my prints because that's the singular thing I'm passionately involved with these days. I've mustered the courage to enter two of my prints in a local juried art show of works on/with paper. Although I forced one of my best friends to go with me to the gallery because I knew I would chicken out if I went alone. (Currently sitting on pins and needles wondering if my pieces will be accepted.) I've also registered on Etsy, but I've not had time to price my work and build the shop.

And I would be remiss in not mentioning that I am grateful for the support of a few very dear friends and my husband - and their encouragement to pursue my art as a possible career. I'm getting there (mentally and physically). It's all quite scary to me.

Oh, and I also bought a new bike (thanks Bike Authority!). This is Nigel, my new P3. I named him such because he "goes to eleven" (gears, that is).

All Work

This is a drawing of me becoming my work. Not fully realized but I'm too tired to finish it. I did finally get to the pool today after about a month of no swimming. It wasn't as scary as this drawing.

What's Up Between Drawings

Looming in my future.

I haven't written a REAL blog post in many weeks. I don't have much to say because I've been so busy - mostly at work. I feel like I should be doing more in the way of planning for next racing season, but every time I sit down and think about it, I lose interest and find myself going down a hole of sadness. I only have two races to focus on next year. The first one is the Boston Marathon in April. It will be my third Boston - the last time was 17 years ago. I can't believe it's been that long since I ran Boston, but the last time I ran it was the 100th anniversary in 1996. The other thing on my schedule is the 2013 ITU Age Group World Championship in London in September. Someday I will fill in the blanks for the rest of the season, but not today. There are several health issues that need to be taken care of first:

1. Determine what went wrong in Kona. So far, the only thing that turned up was a blood test showing I have a Vitamin D deficiency. I don't know how much it affected my race - will have to find out more when I talk to my doctor about it. In the meantime, I have to take huge weekly doses of Vitamin D.
2. Diagnose what's wrong with my shoulder. Since my fall in the summer, it hasn't been right, and it's now getting worse. I can't reach backwards with my right arm without being overcome by severe pain and a few minutes of recovery time. This is the weirdest injury I've ever had because of the weird recovery phase required after I trigger the pain.
3. Get my jaw fixed. For many many years, I've been grinding my teeth down. It got worse when I developed severe TMJ after a head-on collision with a biker on the sidewalk back in the mid-1990s. Nothing about my jaw really works well due to both that accident and the fact that I have what's called an "open bite" (my front teeth never came together even after four years of braces in high school). Anyway, my dentist(s) have been on my case to have it fixed for over ten years because in my subconscious hours, I'm slowly destroying my teeth.

So, that's the health side of the coin. On the flip side is mostly work. I've been working on a huge web development project for my employer, The Cleveland Museum of Art. The project required that I spend a week in Philadelphia at the contractor's office helping with development tasks, answering questions, and learning as much as possible about our awesome open-source content management system, Drupal. While I was in Philadelphia, I endured Hurricane Sandy, ran everyday either on the treadmill or along the Schuylkill river, and worked long hours. On the way home, I took a side trip that involved figuring out how to get into New York City without at least two passengers in my car during the hurricane HOV ban (answer: the George Washington Bridge) and an all-nighter with a good friend on the upper west side. On the drive home, I collided with a deer on I-80 after it was hit and bounced into my lane by a semi-truck. The next day I found myself in bed with a 100-degree fever. I can't say any of it was unexpected because this is par for the Disaster Magnet course. Since I got back, I've been working long hours and training has been almost non-existent.

Here are some random photos from my trip to Philadelphia:

I ate breakfast at Jean's three times - in fact, it was the ONLY place open
the morning Hurricane Sandy hit.

This is the Khyber - the place where I first saw Turin Brakes - it's no longer
a concert venue, but I had to go back for the memories.

Monks might very well be the most famous Belgian beer joint in the USA.

Scene from my morning run

Another scene from my morning run

The Philadelphia Museum of Art with its famous "Rocky" steps

View of Philadelphia from atop the Rocky steps

And this is what happened when I got together with my friend Colétte-Elizabeth in New York:

We're not telling.

Seriously. Not. Telling.

We got artsy...

with our phone cams.

And it was gin o'clock at Kennedy's bar.

This is what happens at gin o'clock.

No, THIS is what happens at gin o'clock.