Image from Google.
First off, I want to thank ya’ll for all the sweet comments yesterday. Your support calmed the nervous butterflies in my stomach and made me feel like I’m on the right path. And like my idol Elle says, you’ve got to have faith in yourself.
Today, I thought I’d share an essay I wrote after a dinner party the other day. As an writer/ artist living in San Antonio, it’s really easy to feel out of place. Most people work for a few major companies in town and fall into two groups: business or higher education. I’m not small business, I’m not big business and I don’t have a masters. I just paint pictures, like my newest one above, and write stories. (To make you smile, of course)
And now, without further ado….The Other Side
Photo from Google
I was born into privilege and wealth, but grew up in a 1600 square foot house with a boat from the 1970s in the backyard, much to the neighbor’s chargarin.
I went to a exclusive private school littered with pre-law trust fund babies but married a man who drove a pickup truck and faded blue jeans because I was curious about the mind behind that glittering smile.
I wear heels and dresses to events with tiny plates of food that costs more than my weekly groceries but love a good greasy burger made by a man named Mel with an eighth grade education.
I grew up in the liberal artist haven of Texas, Austin, but longed for the conservative prestige of Dallas or Fort Worth.
At Baylor, I took classes in buildings with marble floors just to escape afterwards to a ranch where I could ride across fields of muddy grass.
I married a man who wears suits and has a corporate job with the security that comes with it but itch to travel the world.
I fell in love with a man who is logical, determined and fair when I am a dreamer who creates to escape the cold, mundane of the world.
I dine with foodies but sometimes crave the simplicity of my mother-in-law’s kitchen.
And the other night, at a dinner party, I looked at the collection of people—many who had their masters, a few that had their doctorates. They all had corporate jobs or private practices, wore elegant designer labels and drove sleek sports cars. Then I looked down at my fingers stained with paint from art class, the faded ink on my thigh from a reminder I scribbled while driving. I stirred my homemade potato salad, chock full of passé mayoniase, next to the sautéed steaks and asparagus she’d served with a salad of finely chopped cucumbers and avocado over lettuce with a squeeze of lime juice and bleu cheese.
I am neither rich, nor am I poor. I’m not Chanel and I’m not K-Mart.
I’m just in-between.
I’m on the other side.
I’d love to hear what ya’ll want to hear from me in this space! I’m planning on joining Mama Kat’s–any other writing groups I should join? I also want to interview creative women, post art tutorials on painting….and several cute pictures of puppies, of course. We all need more pictures of puppies.
What would you want to see from Words n’ Whimsy? Have you ever felt like you don’t quite fit in?