Let me paint you a picture of our week—not with literal paint (yet), but with the chaos-glazed watercolor of real artist life when the shit hits the fan.
It all started innocently enough: “Let’s get back in the studio,” we said. “Let’s just ease into a creative flow,” we said.
Reality: HA.
Day 1: Taxes.
Nothing gets the creative juices flowing like double-checking spreadsheets and whisper-sobbing as you hit “Submit” on your IRS forms. I think I pulled a muscle in my soul. And because we’re self-employed, the government takes a look at our dwindling bank account and goes, “Oooooh yeah, we’ll take a big ol’ scoop of that, thanks.”
Day 2: Mural Mayhem.
We headed to 100 Seneca to measure the wall for the mural I’m working on. I met with Jeff (the awesome human who commissioned me), and we talked timelines—which are tight. Like, “wearing jeans fresh out of the dryer” tight. But hey, pressure makes diamonds… or panic attacks. One of those.
Day 3: MakerSpace Manifesting.
We met with Marcy (who is part genius, part wizard) to talk about the MakerSpace. It’s slow-going, but we’re building something powerful for the creative community. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Apparently neither is a 3th floor Maker Mecca. Who knew?
Day 4: Doctor Day.
Klee had an appointment, and then we went to the hospital for bloodwork. We turned it into an unofficial date—complete with waiting room magazines and vending machine water. Living the dream, people. Living. The. Dream.
Day 5: Lights, Camera, Easel.
I shot a video for a potential sponsor who sent us an easel to review (yep, that’s a thing now). I said words like “stability” and “adjustable angle,” and only once did I almost trip over the tripod. Professionalism, nailed it.
And then… weekend bliss.
Finally—finally—I stepped into the studio. I threw all my responsibilities into a mental junk drawer, turned on music, and let myself create. No timelines. No scripts. No spreadsheets. Just paint, commissions, and a new piece that made me remember why I do this in the first place. It was glorious.
And even though the studio time was the cherry on top, the truth is… the whole week was kind of glorious. Because I got to share it all with Klee. There was laughter. There were ridiculous inside jokes. There were moments of eye contact across chaotic rooms that said, “We’ve got this.”
But.
(There’s always a but.)
I did feel pressure. Like, a lot. Not from anyone else—just from that part of my brain that’s like, “Hey, what if everything falls apart tomorrow and we end up living under a bridge with a broken easel and overdue library books?”
Classic.
So I picked up a book by Dale Carnegie about worrying less. (Because my brain, much like a toddler with a Sharpie, has been all over the place lately.) I don’t consider myself a “worrier,” but somehow I’ve become a full-time, certified, Olympic-level anxiety gymnast. Worrying about Klee’s health, money, letting people down, what our neighbors think of the jungle in our yard, roof repairs, squirrels plotting against us… you name it.
But here’s the truth bomb I remembered mid-book:
Worrying does nothing… NOTHING.
It doesn’t fix problems. It doesn’t make things better. It’s just mental hamster-wheel cardio with zero gains.
So I made a decision:
I’m done worrying.
Not because everything is magically okay, but because I want to be okay.
And not-worrying, as it turns out, is actually the freedom I’ve been looking for.
How am I going to stop worrying, you ask? Good question.
Here’s the game plan that has ALWAYS worked for me (when I remember to live life this way):
- I’m focusing on what’s going right. I refuse to be consumed by what isn’t. That rabbit hole is dark and deep and leads to a dead-end.
- I’m staying in the moment. Not in the future that doesn’t exist yet, or the past that already packed its bags and left.
- I’m releasing what people think of me. I have zero control over it, so why am I renting it space in my head?
- I’m remembering life is short. And the only thing I can do is make the most of the weird, wonderful, unpredictable time I’ve got left.
- And most importantly, I’m remembering this: No matter what, Klee and I face everything together. We are a force of nature. Come what may—we’ve got this.
- Oh, and I’m done giving a f–k about bills. I’ve officially run out of f–ks to give about bills. I mean, I’ll pay them like I always do—especially the ones that keep the lights on and the fridge humming—but everything else? Optional. Like credit cards. Nice if you can swing it, but you’re not gonna die without making that payment.
I know, it sounds extreme—but hear me out: the bills aren’t the problem. The worry is. Worry is the real drain on my energy, my creativity, and my will to wear pants. Shifting this perspective has always been a game changer for me. When I’m not panicking about the credit card bills, I can actually focus on painting… and, you know, life.
Besides, ultra-wealthy people dodge bills all the time. If billionaires can “strategically default,” I can “artistically delay.”
That’s not financial advice by the way, it’s just a weird perspective that works for me.
So this week was chaotic, beautiful, stressful, inspiring, tiring, and full of color—even if the paint didn’t hit the canvas until the weekend.
Here’s to a little less worrying, a lot more laughter, and the glorious mess that is a creative life.
