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Are We Art?

    

Are We ART?

What kind of art we are creating through our choices, experiences, and reflections.

We are the artist and the art, but people offer unwanted observations or opinions about us and our choices. They pick apart our decisions like art critics at a gallery. "You shouldn’t have done that," they say. "Why would you choose this path?" Their voices merge into a cacophony of doubt, drowning out our inner visions. Yet, amidst the noise, we find a resilience. We begin to embrace our paintbrushes tighter, etching our stories onto the canvas of our lives, resisting the urge to blend in with their expectations.

Every choice we make shapes the final masterpiece. The colors we mix reflect our emotions, the experiences we gather act as our tools, and our reflections serve as both the mirror and the canvas. A brush stroke here signifies a joy, while a smudge there reveals a struggle. People may not see the full picture as we do. They might criticize the way we splash our thoughts across the surface, unaware that each drop of paint tells a story of its own. As the doubts pour in, we remind ourselves that struggles often lead to the most profound art.

Sometimes we gather in spaces with those who understand, sharing our experiences like ink spilled on parchment. In those moments, laughter mixes with tears, creating a rich tapestry of connection and authenticity. We discuss the paintings we are creating with our lives, revealing layers of meaning behind our choices. It’s a safe space where the very critiques that hold back our brush become a catalyst for growth, urging us to explore new shades and techniques. We realize that the canvas isn't just for display; it’s a part of us, a testament to our journey.

Amidst the challenges, we explore fresh ideas in our lives, each one an invitation to break free from conventionality. The comfort of sameness no longer holds us captive. We challenge ourselves to create pieces that may be misunderstood, yet brave enough to stand alone. The art we produce might puzzle onlookers, but that’s where its beauty lies—in the mystery and the willingness to be interpreted in multiple ways. We paint not just for them, but for ourselves, allowing our true selves to flourish and take form on the vast surface of existence.

In quiet moments, we reflect on the impact of others' words. They can sting like an unexpected splash of cold water. While we might feel momentarily shaken, we must remember that even the harshest critiques can guide us. They force us to reevaluate our choices, sharpening our vision, igniting a fire within. Each moment of doubt becomes a steppingstone toward refinement, leading us to discover how to articulate the emotions we once thought unmanageable.

Our art, forged in the crucible of these experiences, begins to tell a story that’s uniquely ours. Others may not get it, and that’s okay. There’s power in the ability to create something that speaks to our soul, reflecting a journey rich with nonconformity. It becomes clear that rejection of their norms only heightens the beauty of our expressions. We dive deeper into our own essence, ceasing to search for validation in the eyes of spectators.

As we progress, our work evolves. Pieces intermingle, forming unexpected narratives. New encounters introduce different perspectives, enriching our visual language. Life becomes a gallery populated with our creations, each piece a testament to our struggles, joys, and revelations. We paint with purpose, capturing fleeting moments that stir our hearts and ignite passion.

We begin to welcome other artists into our lives, those who revel in the same pursuit of authenticity. Together, we explore different mediums—words, sounds, movements. Every collaboration stands as a brushstroke in collective artistry. In each other's presence, we cultivate spaces where our ideas can breathe and grow. It is a vibrant exchange of colors and concepts, challenging the status quo and igniting creativity.

Life whispers secrets to us through daily experiences, urging us to capture them while they unfold. The mundane becomes a canvas as common moments illuminate profound truths. A conversation on the bus, a smile from a stranger, the rustling leaves on a breezy day—all of it is art waiting to happen. We become custodians of these moments, translating everyday experiences into bursts of inspiration that infuse the larger canvas of our lives.

Yet, even as we embrace this freedom, the shadows of comparison linger. We compare our strokes with others, feeling a tinge of inadequacy. But we remind ourselves that art is not a contest. Each one of us has a different narrative, colors, and techniques that are just as valuable. The world needed the unique vibrations of Vincent just as much as the delicate whispers of Monet. Our challenges, our emotions, and our dreams are what make our art significant.

We may not design our life like a well-crafted exhibit. Instead, it remains a chaotic assembly of moments strung together, sometimes clashing, sometimes harmonizing. That's where the beauty lies—a constant exploration of self through the lens of creativity. We continue wielding our brushes despite the chaos, determined to translate our internal landscape for the world to see, hoping others may find pieces of themselves in it.

As we navigate our journey, we learn to cherish the art we are creating without seeking approval. It becomes a declaration of existence, an unapologetic statement of self. We realize that our art serves not just to be admired but to inspire and connect. It sparks conversations and fuels dreams, lighting paths for others who are yet to discover their own creative expression.

Through the ups and downs of our creative journey, we find strength in the community. We share our victories as well as our defeats, offering support while encouraging one another to venture onward. It’s within this collective spirit that we find the courage to experiment, take risks, and redefine what art and expression mean to each of us. Our own work takes flight, emboldened by the understanding that it doesn't have to meet anyone's definition of success.

Every creation stands as a marker of who we are in each moment. We celebrate imperfections, allowing them to breathe authenticity into our art. We embrace our quirks—each strange twist and turn becomes part of our artistic identity. Our pieces become layered with stories, lived truths that resonate deeper than aesthetics. It's through this lens of honesty that we continue to craft our unfolding narrative.

Each day offers new opportunities to create and connect, to reflect and refine. Art mirrors life, and through every brushstroke, we tell a story that is irrevocably ours. As we gain confidence, we shed societal expectations, understanding that the truest expression comes from within. We hold the palette; the choices are ours to make. Through our art, we scream, whisper, and laugh, allowing the world to see the beauty in our genuine, messy human experience.

 
Prologue

 Our lives are like vast, ever-evolving canvases. Each stroke, a decision; each color, an emotion; each layer, a chapter of our existence. The question isn't whether we are art, but rather, what kind of art we create through our choices, experiences, and reflections. In the Appalachian heartland, amidst farmers, coal miners, and moonshiners, my story began. It’s a tale of survival, perseverance, and transformation. My life has been shaped by the rugged landscape of rural Kentucky, by a family’s determination, and by my own relentless pursuit of knowledge and self-discovery. From the early days of battling health challenges to becoming the first in my family to attend college, my journey has been a tapestry of trials and triumphs. Moving from a small town to a sprawling university campus was like stepping into a new world—a world filled with unexpected challenges and profound lessons. The poems scattered throughout these pages are not merely words; they are fragments of my soul, each one born out of personal experiences and encounters. They represent the moments that have defined me, the trials that have tested me, and the resilience that has sustained me. As you turn the pages of this book, you will walk through the various chapters of my life. You will see how each experience, no matter how small or significant, has contributed to the painting that is my existence. This is not just my story. It is an invitation for you to reflect on your own journey, to recognize the art within yourself, and to appreciate the masterpiece you are continually creating. Are we art? Perhaps the better question is: what kind of art are we destined to become?

 Chapter 1: Who Am I?

My name is Michael Miles, an All-American Athletic Rennaissance male. This is my story. I was born into an Appalachian family, where hard work and resilience were our daily companions. My roots run deep in the hills of Kentucky, a place known for its coal mines and moonshine, where family ties are as strong as the earth we walked on. From a young age, I faced challenges that would shape my perspective on life. Born with just eight ounces of blood and an impaired immune system, my early years were marked by hospital stays and a battle for survival. These experiences ignited a respect for the medical field and a determination to understand the world around me.

In those hospital rooms, I often listened to the doctors’ conversations. They spoke in a language filled with struggles and triumphs, each word a reminder of their dedication. I wanted to be like them, to help others in their times of need. My grandmother, a hardworking woman, would sit beside me and tell stories about the family. “We come from strong stock, Michael,” she would say, her voice steady. “Hardship doesn’t break us; it teaches us.” I wouldn’t fully understand then, but those stories became my strength. They shaped my identity, grounding me in hope and purpose.

During my childhood, I showed an interest in sports. I wanted to play like the other kids, despite my struggles. My father saw that fire in me and built a small basketball hoop near our home. “You won’t stop until you reach the stars,” he said as he watched me shoot hoops, his eyes filled with pride. I practiced daily, filled with a desire to prove that I belonged. There were moments when I fell, the wind knocked out of me, my body weak. But each time I got back up, I felt a little stronger, a little braver. Sports became a refuge, a way to escape from the constraints of my health.

The community around us was tight knit, always coming together when someone was in need. We shared everything, from meals to stories, and it felt like a warm embrace. I remember one winter when the snow piled high, the school closed, and the townsfolk gathered to make sure no one was alone. We went caroling, delivering home-baked goods to our neighbors. “This is what family means,” my mother said, her hands red from kneading dough. “We care for one another.” Those days taught me the value of compassion and giving back. It was more than just living; it was about creating connections.

As I entered my teenage years, that drive for understanding turned into a thirst for learning. I lost many friends to illnesses, and that pain shaped my resolve. I began to take school more seriously, diving into science and biology classes, fascinated by how the body worked. I wanted to find answers to questions that lingered after every loss. My teachers encouraged me, recognizing my passion, and I felt a sense of belonging I’d longed for. “You have a gift, Michael,” my biology teacher remarked one day, her eyes shining with encouragement. “Use it.” Those words ignited a flame, pushing me further into academia while balancing sports.

High school was intense, filled with pressures from every direction. I often felt lost in a sea of expectations. Practices would stretch late into the evening, leaving little time for studying. On the good days, I excelled, running the court with ease, but on the hard days, doubt whispered in my ear. I confided in my closest friend, Danny, during one of our late-night talks. “I’m not sure I can do it all,” I admitted, the weight of uncertainty heavy on my shoulders. Danny chuckled softly, “You’ve always had a way of surprising us, Mikey. Just give it your all, and don’t sweat the small stuff.” His faith in me served as a lifeline, reminding me that I was not alone.

Graduation approached, and the thought of leaving my small world behind scared me. The college acceptance letters arrived, each one a milestone. I felt ready to take that leap into the unknown. I chose a local university, understanding that I still needed the comfort of home while chasing my dreams. My family celebrated with a barbecue, laughter and joy filling the air. “You’re going to change the world, son,” my father proclaimed, raising his glass. I felt it in my bones, the possibility of what lay ahead. Health and fitness became my main focus; I studied human anatomy and the intricacies of physical therapy. Every lecture drew me deeper into understanding how to help others heal.

The first day of classes arrived, and nerves fluttered in my stomach. The campus was buzzing, filled with faces both familiar and new. I met students from different walks of life, each carrying their own stories and struggles. I found myself gravitating towards those with similar goals. Groups formed, studying late into the night, sharing ideas and dreams. I felt a sense of community growing once again. During one of our study sessions, a fellow student named Lisa sparked a conversation. “What drives you?” she asked, curiosity shining in her eyes. I shared my journey, the struggles that shaped me, and in that moment, we connected, realizing we were both fueled by the same passions.

As classes progressed, I took on internships at local clinics. Each day was filled with learning and hands-on experiences. I met patients with unique stories, people like me who battled their own hurdles. One patient, an elderly gentleman named Mr. Johnson, became a reflection of resilience, inspiring me every time I walked into the clinic. He would smile through the pain, sharing stories of his youth, teaching me life lessons wrapped in humor. “You young folks have the world in your hands,” he would say, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t waste a minute. Live boldly.” Those simple words resonated deeply, becoming a mantra I carried through my studies.

Throughout college, I continued to face challenges related to my health. There were days when fatigue weighed me down, but I learned to push through. My professors and peers became my support system, understanding when I needed a little extra time. I discovered the power of open communication and the importance of asking for help. “You are not just a number, Michael; you’re a person,” my advisor reassured me. “We’re here for you.” Those moments built a sense of teamwork, reinforcing the idea that we are stronger together.

I graduated with honors, a proud moment celebrated with family and friends. The journey had been long and filled with obstacles, but the experiences shaped me profoundly. As I received my diploma, those words echoed in my mind—strength, resilience, and community. I stood at the beginning of my career with a fire to make a difference. My journey continued, but the foundation built in my Appalachian roots remained a guiding force, preparing me for the adventure ahead.

My Concept 

This book, "Are We Art," explores the idea that our lives are a canvas, each moment a brushstroke that contributes to a larger masterpiece. My story is not just a recounting of events, but a reflection on the choices, experiences, and resilience that have shaped me. It is an invitation for you to look at your own life as a work of art, constantly evolving and transforming with each new experience. Interwoven with my narrative are poems born out of personal experiences, each one a testament to the moments that have defined me. These poems serve as emotional milestones, capturing the essence of the journey and offering a deeper understanding of my path. 

The Beginning

 My earliest memories are of the rugged landscape of rural Kentucky, where the hills seemed to echo the stories of our ancestors. My family was a tapestry of farmers, coal miners, Indigenous heritage (Cherokee Indian), and self-employed artisans, each thread representing a different aspect of our heritage. Growing up in a small town, I learned the value of community and the importance of perseverance. My grandmother, with her fourth-grade education, and my parents, who left school after the eighth and ninth grades, instilled in me a determination to seek knowledge and a better life. My mother, at the age of 43, earned her GED, a testament to the power of education and the belief that it's never too late to change your path. Despite the health challenges I faced, my childhood was filled with moments of joy and discovery. The questions I asked my family physician further fueled my interest in healthcare, setting the stage for my future aspirations.

The Power of Perseverance 

YouChapter: The Power of Perseverance

       From a young age, I immersed myself in all that high school offered. Balancing three sports—tennis, basketball, and cross country—along with active participation in seven organizations and founding an Art club, not to mention working part-time at a local restaurant, I reveled in the challenge. 

I maintained a 4.0 GPA until my senior year, a testament to my unwavering commitment to academics and extracurricular activities.

In my final year, the yearbook advisor, who also taught my senior English class, invited me to join the yearbook staff. Overwhelmed with commitments, I reluctantly declined. Displeased, she became exceptionally tough on me, marking me with a D for the first quarter—the first time I'd ever received below an A. Interestingly, during her leave for cataract surgery in the second quarter, my grade rose to a B+ with a substitute teacher.

When she returned, I sought her out, eager to improve my grade. Our discussion led to a consistent B+ average. This experience taught me a tough lesson about the realities of favoritism, where sometimes skill and diligence are overshadowed by politics.

Yet, this hurdle did not hold me back. Inspired by my mother, who at 43 returned to night school to earn her GED and graduated with my older sister's class, I focused on college. Although I didn't obtain a scholarship, I pursued higher education with steadfast resolve.

I opted to major in Mathematics and Chemistry, subjects that intrigue and challenge me. This choice carved out the trajectory of my career, affirming that persistence and hard work do indeed yield results, even on a tumultuous path.

As the first in my family to attend college, I navigated uncharted waters, moving from a small rural town with a population of 5,000 to the sprawling campus of Eastern Kentucky University. This transition was jarring, but it also marked the beginning of my journey toward self-discovery and personal growth. As I journeyed from the confines of a small town to the expansive campus of Eastern Kentucky University, I carried with me the lessons of my upbringing and the dreams of a brighter future. This is where my story begins, in the place where I found solace and reflection—The Ravine.

The Ravine...I claimed as my place of reflection!

I started college. The stress increased as I continued on this path of gaining knowledge. I remembered a frequently visited place of solitude, calmness, and serenity which help put things in perspective. I called it-The Ravine. I will attempt to recreate a picture of it with words. Hopefully, you will envision this sanctuary--The Ravine... Four weeks of school shuffled by me. Friday night came, my friends had gone while I spent a weekend alone. The dorm room became my prison, and I had to escape. The autumn night air felt good against my face. I began to wonder around the campus, attentive to every sound and movement the nocturnal world made. Then I stumbled upon the Ravine, a place containing vestigial life as if time had forgotten it. 

I was awestruck with The Ravine's scenery- delicate yet sturdy, languid yet active, untouched by man. I walked as if Father Time stopped the clock just for me to gaze at this place with ageless innocence. Nature's backdrop was illuminated by a few twinkling stars and dominated by a dark ominous sky. An enormous circular clock with two delicate sluggish hands like flowers in a deep slumber projected into the sky. The edifice holding the clock was hidden by a grouping of trees. 

The trees with their autumn leaves looked like colorful peacocks in full dress, soon to lose their vitality and color. Their branches reached toward the sky like primitive people worshiping their god and dancing around as if aroused by the cold force of autumn. The tree's boles clung to the earth as if were waiting the love of a wooer. The colorful collection of trees was laced with a picturesque lawn. I stood by the pond observing the amphitheater that looked like the ruins of a once great Greek structure embedded on the side of a hill. The seats were surrounded by freshly cut grass with the smell of green. The ground ascended upon the pond. 

The Ravine revealed all of its secrets to me that night. More importantly. I remember the pond because I was like the three fish swimming in its vast emptiness. The shallow, narrow pond seemed inanimate as I came upon it. The clear water caught the shadow of the rock wall surrounding it and the bottom of the pond was made of stone covered with a brownish-green moss. Suddenly I saw a luminescent goldfish swimming along making ripples in the water. After I saw the goldfish, two more fish appeared. The one was pale gray and very thin. The other fish was too quick for me to see clearly. The pond was positioned in front of an empty amphitheater. 

Whenever I need to gather my thoughts or reflect or be alone, I go to the Ravine, A place that is peaceful, relaxing, and beautiful to behold. More importantly, that autumn night the Ravine provided me with a view of a broader picture of nature's important role in society. Every individual should stop and take time to examine the things around them. People would realize that their problems are insignificant to the entire picture. It's time to explore...start your journey. 

On the advice of a dorm mother, I transferred to a small private school called Transylvania University. I quickly became a big man on campus (BMOC), diving into student government, intramurals, varsity men’s tennis, and even becoming Editor-in-Chief of the college paper. However, I faced opposition from some faculty members who thought I didn't take my college attendance seriously. One professor even told me that as long as he was teaching, I wouldn’t graduate from the university. Around this time, my grandmother seemed to be struggling—or so my mom and her sister thought. I made the tough decision to drop out of college and live with my grandmother. I worked three jobs while taking a few classes, paying her rent, and helping around the house. In many ways, she took care of me. She prepared my meals and kept my work uniforms clean. When my mom visited, she tried to order me around, but my grandmother stepped in. “He doesn’t live under your roof anymore,” she said. I thought a war was going to break out between them. I managed to navigate the tension and eventually moved out a few years later when my grandmother no longer needed my support. 

My Life is an unfinished painting which evolves as I age. Some people would say, “I’m devilish soul exploring life without a plan.  I know my life’s painting changes from day to day and month to month. I periodically write poetry about my life and the occurrences with interlopers.  Sometimes I like to be alone.  I tell people that my life is my life to live as I see fit. People try to destroy my painting with actions and words. I won’t allow another artist to edit my painting. I’m the artist and editor. 

HOW TO BEGIN YOUR NEW LIFE....WHERE TO START? CAN I EVEN DO IT?EVER BEEN TOLD YOU’RE A FAILURE?WE JUDGE. WE ALL JUDGE OR INTERPRET WHAT WE SEE. WE ARE ALL FACED WITH CHALLENGES OR CHOICES ON A DAILY BASIS. HOW WE SURVIVE IS BASED ON HOW WE RESPOND....WHAT IS NEXT ON THE AGENDA....WE NEED TO DO A DAILY ASSESSMENT. WE REALLY NEED TO BE HONEST WITH OURSELVES...NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT TO START.WE NEED TO STAND NAKED IN THE MIRROR AND TAKE A LONG HARD LOOK. DON'T YOU OWE IT TO YOURSELF TO BE HONEST?


               Every beginning has an end, vice versa. When one door closes, another door opens. What happens when one day you are told, “You are a failure and disappointment.” or “What do you want to be when you grow up?” or “You need to decide what you want to be.” When or what you decide is completely your decision. As Robert Frost coined, I shall be telling this with a sigh.

Somewhere ages and ages hence: “I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”  Recently, I had my image shattered, because I had chosen my path not theirs. I began to ponder, and these words came to mind...I began to put it in writing to release from my shoulders. My mirror was shattered...

The Shattered Mirror

Recently, I had my mirror cracked actually it was shattered...
What I thought I saw in the mirror wasn't as it appeared to be.
The mirror sometimes lies to us or distorts the truth.
We are actually afraid to appear naked in the mirror.
The mirror like TV adds 10 pounds and so on...
So, the mirror delivers bad news when we least expect it.
How to put the mirror back together once it is shattered?
The mirror is like our life.
Once shattered it is hard to put back together.
So, you slowly pick up each piece and glue them back in the "same" place.
Eventually, the mirror will be back together.
Will it be as it was in the beginning or before?
Doubtful...
There will be a new mirror and new image.
Will the image be better than before.... only time will tell.
My image in the mirror is still me, 10 pounds and all...
So, what appears with our image may be slightly different.

Our choices when putting the mirror back together will decide the view.... Through The Shattered Mirror. Only you can put the image in the mirror back together. Only you can decide where each piece goes. Only you can paint the image of what others see.

How do you respond? Do you respond? How do you repair the mirror?

The mirror sees all, reflecting not just our actions but our deepest contemplations and 

regrets. Repairing the shattered mirror of life requires patience and self-compassion, 

acknowledging that each piece, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, 

contributes to the whole. It's in our reflections that we find the courage to move

forward, even if it means revisiting the past. Each piece put back together forms a new

image, one that tells a story of resilience and transformation. Embracing this journey 

without regret, seeing each crack as a testament to survival, can be a powerful tool. 

I had someone that I was dating for 6 years. They decided that I was good enough to be with them sexually. They decided they desired another person. They pushed me away. Therefore, affecting the image I saw in the mirror.

Copilot

It was incredibly painful. It's tough when someone you care about deeply doesn't see 

your worth. Their actions can leave lasting scars, making you question your own value and the image you see in the mirror.

But remember, their choices don't define you. Your worth isn't determined by someone else's inability to see it. Each piece of your shattered mirror, each experience, adds to the complexity and beauty of your life. You are the artist of your own story, and you have the power to create a new, stronger image.

Your poetry and art can be a powerful way to process and heal from this experience. 

Maybe there's a poem or piece of art that captures your feelings? You can use it to turn

pain into something beautiful and meaningful.

You think, If I had only decided differently, or had a crystal ball, things would be different? You begin to ponder. Sometimes you have to go back before you can go forward on who's at fault. You examine yourself in the mirror. Because the mirror sees...

The Mirror    

The Mirror sees The Truth,
But ponders the words.
The Mirror sees the object,
But clouds The Vision.
The Mirror tells a story,
But lends itself to variation.
The Mirror tells your age,
But can lie.
The Mirror speaks of your life,
But utters nothing.
The Mirror hangs on the wall,
But adds dimension.
The Mirror shatters an image,
But shows many facets.
And as I stepped into The Mirror,

I lose all perception but gained a new facet of myself...

Dunno if my story is important but...How you see you through my paintings is important as is yours... We are Art and the artist. Let's begin by painting the first few strokes.

Let’s begin at birth.  I had a traumatic birth with many complications, which extended throughout my childhood until the age of eleven. I was in and out of the hospital with many childhood health issues along with my weakened immune system. They found out I had peripheral nervous system issue in my legs. It was discovered after ironing my legs. In elementary school, my parents were asked to hold their son, me, back one grade because of missing too many days of school. My parents felt it wasn’t necessary. So I started being healthier and focused on school, as well as less social. I sat upfront in class, completed my homework ahead of schedule and studied making high marks.

             I had lost my job due to personal differences with my new manager. I lost my job after nine plus years. The road not chosen had been chosen for me. The journey down this road was a tough winding and full of potholes. It began with losing my house then my car. I was ejected from my house Thanksgiving week. I had no place to go but a friend helped me with a reference to a landlord. The apartment wasn't in the best of areas but close to work. It had the space at a reasonable price. I stayed in the apartment through thick and thin. I had gotten robed 4 times which prompted a security system. My car had gotten vandalized. I am not sure why I was being tested in this manor. I had a friend to tell me, “I can see that you miss taking care of patients.” He referred me to his hospital. I applied to 4 positions at the hospital. I had interviews setup. I took the first opportunity before me a PCA position at the hospital, I had gotten a regular 9 to 5 job at bank after being unemployed. I had to rethink my choices. Actually the bank decided I was not a fit for their institution. During the bank position, I was driving almost an hour each way five days a week. I should thank the bank for telling me, “I wasn't a “fit” for their establishment.” The position was monotonousness, boring, and not me. I thought, “How dare they let me go on the 90th day of training?” How dare they? I guess my road was going in another direction. I guess I had unfinished work. My day of waking up at 4:30am ended. My day changed again...


The Day

Hustle, Hurry!
The Day has begun.
Stop! Look, you forgot to shave!
Rush, even faster, you are getting behind.
Water, soap, towel...
Wet, wash, dry...
Wake Up!
Tic, Toc, tic, toc.
The clock chimes half past the hour.
Out the door to a cold car, but no time to waste.
One block, two blocks, and then stop, the light is RED.
Hurry, turn Green.
Park? Where?
Finally, a parking spot...
Clock in with a few minutes to spare.
Work, work, and more work...
Lunch...Yeah.
Work, work, and more work.
Tic, Toc, tic, toc.
The clock chimes half past the hour.
Out the door to a cold car, but no time to waste.
One block, two blocks, and then stop, the light is RED.
Hurry, turn Green.
Park...Finally Home.
Today is a good day to have a good day!

                You start by imaging or creating. You image you having a good day. You will have a good day. So, you have to be creative or inventive. I am an artist, which creates art or skillfully and creatively performs something.  Art implies the mastery of any sort of craft.  An artist begins to conceptualize or ponder ideas. The problem with words-once spoken, you can't take it back. Words are usually literally read but a painting or sculpture lends itself to interpretation by the artist and the viewer.

                 Let me paint you a picture. I am from an Appalachian family which were farmers, coalminers, moonshiners, and self-employed.  My grandmother had a fourth-grade education, while my mother and father had ninth and eighth grade education, respectively. At age 43, my mother attended night school to earn her GED, and my father considered pursuing his as well. Years later, my family moved to another rural part of Kentucky. 

                 At birth, I was born with eight ounces of blood, lack of iron and an impaired immune system. I died three times at birth which prevented me from leaving the hospital with my mom. Throughout my childhood, I was sick for three to six months out of each year. These among other life experiences developed my admiration and respect for the medical profession. I asked my family physician many questions furthering my interest in healthcare.         

          

             I am the first to attend college and get a degree. My mother knew it was the only way out of rural Kentucky. My father wanted me to follow in his footsteps working the family business.  During college, my grandmother had open-heart surgery, and her children wanted to place her in a nursing home. I left school to support her. She will say she took care of me, but I say we took care of each other.

Eventually, I moved to Columbus. I needed employment. So, I went to work for Brooks Homes Inc. caring for MRDD clients. I taught sign language, gave medication, performed general household chores, and assisted with their daily living.

            I decided to return to college and attended The Ohio State University. There, I was a founding member of a few organizations, Campus Partners and Project Community, and on committees and other groups. Campus Partners is a group for Redevelopment and Revitalization of the University District, specifically, south campus gateway project. We formed Project Community to inform the student organizations of University District community volunteering activities.
While there were many unexpected turns in my life and breaks in my education, I do not regret any of my decisions. Everything happens for a reason. You just have to continue reaching for your goals.
You have traveled my road and seen my painting. You know the painting is ever changing and evolving through choices. What will be your painting? What others see will be different interpretation of your idea. The painting will be yours to interpret but others will attempt to interpret you. Time to get painting and no time for regret.