4 weeks later
After countless hours of preparation, I open my shop close to the beach and affectionately name it Treasures by the Sea. Nestled less than a mile from the ocean on state road 513, it seems to suit it perfectly.
As I’m standing in the paint aisle at Lowe’s the next morning, I find myself hoping that I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life.
Scanning the rainbow of paint shades in front of me, I sigh in disappointment. None of them are exactly what I need.
Maybe I can mix them.
Drawn to various shades of green, I gather the examples in my hands. Turquoise mostly. Aqua. Mint. My eyes shift to the shades of blue. Overwhelmed by the choices, I move on to the paint brushes.
Pacing the aisle once again, I gather brushes and sandpaper and anything that looks critical, skipping the painter’s tape entirely.
Staring at the abundance of brushes, I contemplate buying one of each. As I’m contemplating this, a woman stops me in the aisle. Her hair is perfectly streaked shades of salt and pepper, tapered into a wonderfully messy bun. As she approaches me, her step is slow as if she has nowhere to go or there’s simply no other place she’d rather be right now. As her eyes meet mine, the wrinkles curving the corners of her eyes, catch my attention.
“Oh, are you an artist?” She asks with a smile.
I pause for a moment, taken slightly off guard. There’s something about her energy. It’s lovely. And nearly, otherworldly.
Remembering she had asked me a question, I open my mouth to speak, hoping it comes out friendly, but instead it just sounds awkward and flat. “Um, not exactly,” I answer, still trying to decipher what could have given it away.
I glance down at my clothes, expecting them to be covered in paint.
Only they aren’t.
Then how did she know?
She taps her hand on my arm and says, “Keep painting,” she says to me with a wink, her beautiful eyes crinkling in the corners. I stare at those little lines for a few moments, mesmerized by what they represent. Millions of moments of happiness.
“I will. Uh, thank you,” I say, trying to think of what I’m supposed to say next. It’s then, that a brush from my cart falls to the floor. I swiftly bend down to scoop it up. With the paint brush still in hand, I turn back to the mysterious woman, and begin to ask her, “How did you- “
My voice trails off as I realize she’s gone.
I look both ways, up and down the aisle, trying to see which way she went, but the aisle is empty. It’s just me, paint brush in hand.
Well, that was weird.
Minutes later, back in my car, I plug my store address into my GPS.
“Turn right onto state road 513,” my GPS says. “Your destination 1301 South Patrick Drive is on the left.”
As I open the door to the shop, the wind catches it and blows it open, nearly knocking me down with it. The wind-chimes are chiming away as I stumble inside.
Moments later, painting my latest furniture piece, Kelly Clarkson’s album plays softly from my phone. I find myself singing along. “Some people wait a lifetime, for a moment, like this.”
Turning the volume up, I finish the first coat.
By the time I’m applying the second color, I can’t help but notice that this creative outlet has awakened something inside me that has been dormant for years. I feel….different when I’m painting. More alive. The only downside, is all the waiting in between coats.
Locked in to my obsession, I start to make use of these windows of time. While paint dries, I spend my time advertising my art on Facebook and Craigslist, just hoping to get noticed by our locals. I continue on this way, every day, hoping that, someday it will pay off in some way. Which was honestly odd, I didn’t even have the talent to match my tenacity, but lucky for me, sometimes tenacity, is all that you need. And maybe it wasn’t luck at all. Maybe it was just pure tenacity, dipped in caffeine. Whatever it was, I promise you, I was delusional. But I can assure you, it was somehow my delusion, that built the life of my dreams.
