I have always been happy when I am creating.

As a girl, I drew paper dolls I called, “Molly Dolls” to entertain myself during family parties or long plane rides. Every margin of my school notebooks contained little line doodles. I loved nothing more than painting with a fresh box of watercolors at my Nana’s house. I built miniature art museums out of shoeboxes and decorated them with miniature works of art. I took classes at our local art and music library, the La Jolla Athenaeum. I was an artist!

For many reasons, when I hit high school, I put art on the back burner. I immersed myself in other creative endeavors—singing, musical theater, and songwriting. Instead of diving into developing my art, I relegated my drawing back to the margins of my notebooks. An AP Art History course with a remarkable teacher, Dr. Otto Mower, and an unforgettable tour with him through Europe, reminded me of how much I adored art, but I still was hesitant to create art in any formal way.

I went off to college resolute in my desire to study Art History and perhaps work in a museum or teach. I approached my studio courses as a fun, but necessary hurdle for my degree. However, when I stepped into my first classical painting course, I fell back in love with the process of creating art.

Because I am an artist, and not a writer, it is hard for me to capture what I felt the first time I swept Alizarin Crimson oil paint across a panel. It felt, simply, right. No other medium has let me express myself or make me feel so connected to the work as oil. That class reminded me that art was an integral part of who I am.

I wish I could say that I started my professional career as an artist at that moment. In truth, my life took me on other paths. I taught elementary school and decided that the creative projects I did with my students had to be enough. I doodled and drew funny cartoons on their worksheets. I started a family and only formally painted while on vacations. Once again, I put art on the back burner, with a promise to myself that when my kids were grown, when I was retired, when I had more time, I would immerse myself in painting.

However, a few years ago things changed. Perhaps it was inevitable when I hit “middle age” that I would need art again. Perhaps it was seeing people I love who are close in age get sick and fight terminal illness. Perhaps it was losing some of them too soon. Perhaps it was knowing that life doesn’t always give us the luxury of more time. Perhaps it was knowing that my children are growing and are becoming more independent of me—they are finding their own way in the world—and need me less. Perhaps it was my husband and children rooting me on to go for it. For all of these reasons, the time has come for me to live my life as an artist, with all the time, commitment and intention that that life requires. As I walk these “midlife crossroads,” I will proudly be wearing a paint-spattered apron and I couldn’t be happier.