Cross-Wiring, Not Discipline

October 18, 2026

I felt the urge to pull out my oils this morning. I haven't in some time. I started gathering everything and setting up. I situated my easel just so, then went to my canvases. I only have a couple of stretched linen, but this really didn't call for that, so I made the mistake of pondering between sizes before nailing down what I actually wanted to paint. I had a rough idea in my head. I looked around, because it would be for me. Then I stopped.

I normally use a tempered glass palette. I like being able to place colored cardstock beneath it. However, earlier this year some stainless steel cutting boards have come into my possession. Three different sizes. They went straight into my studio for random use. I kind of want to give them a go because they have a thumb hole. Mind you, I never enjoy painting that way. I think I'm just drawn to the newness.

In the end, I decided now was not the time to start an oil. I think I got frustrated with myself. I used to love painting oil portraits. I kind of somehow naturally fallen into different mediums for different subjects. I'm not sure why. I feel like I'm needing to branch out again, but I'm undecided on direction.

That got me to thinking about how many directions I've gone in life. There's been several more than a handful. Not intentionally so. I think that's just me. But that makes me contemplate just how many of me there have been. The medical professional, the educator, the secretary, the service member, the artisan, the musician, the poet. On and on it goes in an ongoing list of professions that look okay on paper, but then I realize that they're more like clothing than anything.

I think I may just enjoy stepping into roles and learning them until I can hold my own, then moving onto the next. Except finance. I foolishly signed up for classes many years ago, deciding I should probably at least get an associate's degree in it, and I immediately recognized I had made a mistake. Not because I found it difficult. Rather I found it... soul-sucking. I quit early on.

The only thing that's really held my interest long-term has been the creative arts. Likely because there's so much to choose from. Alas, I'm still in a funk on that. Creating something isn't a problem. I find that I need a reason to transform the materials so that I don't feel guilty for doing so. The possibility of selling doesn't seem to be enough for me anymore. It's a very strange feeling. Much of what I enjoy doing isn't what I'd call “environmentally friendly” and that bothers me. I find that I start contemplating that before I begin—a most frustrating habit.

I am, and have been, in a very strange mood concerning such endeavors. I think it will shift in time. For now, I really feel the urge to get my fingers back in the soil. Actually, I'd like to retreat to a little cottage deep in the woods. I'd have kitties, a man, and lots and lots of nature. OK, so I'd have internet access, too, but I doubt I'd use it very often.

It is definitely strange. The older I get, the more I yearn for simplicity. I don't want to say “new” has lost its appeal. I'm far too curious for that. It just feels a bit lackluster. Also the world is depressing as fuck.

I am clearly stuck in my head today.