Last week, for the first time in twenty-five years, I attended a drawing class at the local community college. I’ve always called myself an artist, but, since I began having children over twenty years ago, I’ve used my talent very rarely. So, this was long overdue.
Everyone was excited for me, but as the time for the first class approached, I became increasingly nervous. What if I’m no good? What if I don’t have everything I need? What if I don’t have what it takes? Do I really want to walk into a classroom full of strangers feeling like the “new girl” all over again?
I suppose some of us never get over our apprehension of the first day at a new school. Our family moved a lot when I was growing up, so I had many of those experiences as a kid and some of those memories are a little traumatic. But I digress.
I signed up for this class to do something fun for me and I should have been looking forward to it. This is silly, I chided myself. I’m a grown, confident (?) woman and I have overcome far greater challenges than this.
“Just relax and enjoy it,” my husband said.
The real root of my problem, however, is that at this point in my life, I just want too badly to accomplish something to be proud of. So instead of just enjoying, I put pressure on myself and worried about the dreaded “f” word (not that word; the worse “f” word) – failure!
The hardest part of the class was walking in that room for the first time. The teacher had started a dialogue before beginning the class to warm things up, and I came in as students were answering her question.
As I found a seat, she turned to me for my answer. “What is the question?” I asked, feeling put on the spot and wanting to hide somewhere. So much for discreetly slipping in.
She explained that she was interested in our reasons for taking the class. Ok, that’s an easy one. “After years of raising kids, I’m trying to find ‘Kim’ again,” I replied.
After that, the class went pretty well. I liked the teacher and felt I could handle her assignments…until we started drawing a still life. Hey, let’s go back to those easy worksheets where you tell me what to do step by step, I silently shouted. I hate still-lifes!
At one point, I considered throwing my pencil down and walking out. I was so discouraged with my work. Still I persevered, and when she told us to walk around and look at everyone else’s work, I was greatly encourage to see that mine was just as good as any.
I know it doesn’t matter how good my drawings are. I don’t have to succeed. In fact, haven’t I already learned that success feeds my pride and keeps me from depending on God? (Well, I do tend to have to keep revisiting the same lessons). What matters is that I took my first step in rediscovering myself and exploring the gifts God has given me that I may use in this new season of my life.
The season of intense mothering is coming to an end for me and, while I might have given up a little too much of myself, I don’t regret that I gave my best to my family. I’m sure there will be some scary steps as I timidly reach out into the world again, but it’s actually kind of exciting to see what God has in store for me.