Slowly, the motivation to paint returns. The ability was always there. I could pick up a brush and make a mark.  When I was in survival mode, other things took my attention away from creating.

I’ve been giving myself time. Time to heal. Time to rest. Time to feel comfortable.  As thoughts about painting came more frequently, I respected them as I would a timid cat or a frightened dog. I cleared a studio space. I brought my easel in from the garage. I unpacked my paints. I didn’t want to scare it away or get bit. 

Among my art supplies was a new, large canvas. I unwrapped it and returned to a familiar theme in my comfort zone.  I painted a scene of the Gunflint Pines. I’ve been poking at it with a paintbrush from time to time over the last week or so. 

Today I started an abstract.  This is my third painting since moving into this house.

Paintings are unpredictable, like the days of my life. I don’t know how they will turn out. Paintings and days are journeys full of brushstrokes and footsteps. I walk down a familiar path, and then take a turn to see something new.

I remember how to walk and how to paint. 

My brother found this while cleaning out my dad’s shed yesterday. It’s a calligraphy brush that I had when I was in art school forty years ago. I’ve been surprised by many of the artifacts that have been uncovered in the last couple of years.

Today I worked on a painting. It felt so good, so comfortable, to play with shapes and colors again.  This is my home, but it is a new home.  When I stood before my easel with a paintbrush in my hand, I thought how much this place reminds me of my old house. For decades, I had painted in my basement. I had LED work lights, but I still painted in the basement. Today I painted in the bright sunlight.  I guess it’s my stuff that makes this feel so familiar.  My furniture, my art box full of brushes, my books and cats all fit perfectly here.  I just had to figure out how the pieces went together.  The last month and a half have felt like a vacation. Now the newness is a fresh routine, and I can get back to being me again.

I think it’s so funny how people freak out about weather forecasts for me up here in Northern Minnesota.  My family down south calls to warn me.  I live up north.  I expect winters to be cold.  I expect snow.  This is normal.  Even my friends up here seem to panic when snow or winds are coming.  It’s ok!  I have plenty of food in my kitchen.  I have a snowmobile and a sauna.  My house is cozy.  I go out when I have to.  Sometimes my car gets stuck.  I chose to move here a long time ago.  I still choose it.

I’m my own valentine this year. That’s nothing new.

I’m learning to take care of myself, which is important. I’ve come through a difficult year.

I find myself in a new town, in a new house, and though I’ve only moved 2 1/2 hours away, a new life.

I’ll be starting a new job soon. I’ve been accepted into college again. I’m eating better, relaxing more, and using my sauna a lot. Every day for the first month, and now about every other day.

I have a to-do list, but it’s things I want to do. My errands revolve around fixing the house up and feeding myself.

I thought I knew what I wanted to do. I thought I was settled and content over the last decade. Random things happened to uproot me and chase me out. It’s not a failure to leave after saying I’d stay. Forces greater than ourselves insist we make a change. It’s a risk.

Thirty three years ago, I got married. We said it was forever, but it wasn’t. No regrets. We are both in better places that we couldn’t have predicted.

The road to get here has been difficult. All of us suffer on the road of life. Today is a day that I can say it was worth it. That washed out road with all its perils has been so much more than the way to this destination. The road has been the life.