Recently, I was ordering my usual oat milk mocha at my favorite coffee shop when the young man at the counter, a barista, casually asked, “Whatcha doing today?”
I shrugged my shoulders and answered, “Not much, just a little work.”
“Oh, cool,” he said. “What do you do?”
“I’m an artist,” I said sort of robotically.
And this is when it got interesting.
His eyes widened with awe. “REALLY?! Wow!” he said with authentic amazement. It was as if I was the first to ever reply with this answer.
He then went on to ask me more questions. “What kind of art?”, “What materials do you work with?” All the while, his eyes were curious, his spirit enamored.
His response struck me. As I settled in with my mocha and my thoughts, I remembered how fortunate I am to make art for a living. Like, people actually pay me to make art! As I thought about it more, I also became astounded! I’m an artist! I get to make art. For fun. For a living. For healing. For community building. How freaking cool is that?
I spent the entire day walking around in amazement like I had unwrapped the most loving and surprising, and thoughtful gift of a lifetime.
The gift was his sincere and authentic response that jolted me back into what has been a truly unique journey of a lifetime.
The gift, always, is the art. That I get to be and do and explore and live a creative life. That I get to do it with others. That I’m supported. That art will always be a refuge.
I am lucky. I am grateful. And I hope it always remains.
