Nothing endures but change

There will be time, there will be time… a time to murder and create.

She stares at me with blank eyes. “You are failing my class." I say matter-of-factly. "You haven’t turned in any of the assignments on time, and while your test grades are improving you are still far behind.”
“I know” She says. “My boy friend is in the hospital…” I stop listening. All I can think is, what does that have to do with my class?
“Look, if you apply yourself, get A’s on the next two tests as well as the final two papers you might be able to pull a B. It is not too late, don’t give up.” I show her the math on an excel spreadsheet. You see her eyes widen, her expression incredulous as she realizes she will never make an A in my class. “You have missed too many points” I explain. Honestly I doubt she will make the B, but I am here to encourage.

A time to be born, a time to die… a time to love, a time to hate, a time for peace, I swear it’s not too late.

I can feel myself projecting through time and space. One moment I am sitting comfortably in my chair, my car, my bath, the next I am sitting in graduate critique listening to the professors "discerning judgment."

“You did better this time.”
“How so?” I ask, leaning over my chair.
“Well, for one you didn’t lose your temper.” It is odd, but when he says this I can feel myself getting angry. “Everyone commented on it.”
“What should I do now?”
“I wouldn’t do anything. Keep painting. Schedule more studio visits with the professors. Figure out what is working in your art. Make a list. Think about how you want to address these in the final.”
I make a mental check list. Don’t do anything. Paint. Talk to people. Be prepared. Sounds reasonable. Why do I want to run down the hallway screaming?

Perhaps if I stopped now I could make this feeling go away. I am comfortable teaching, and happy making art. School is just a distraction, I tell myself. I think about this for a moment. When have I ever been happy being comfortable? When have I ever grown? Growth happens when the pain of doing nothing becomes greater than the pain of change. My relationship, my job, they continue to grow and change because I have been willing, time and time again, to step up and make hard choices.

I am no good at this. Is it supposed to get easier? Probably not. But it does get better. After all, I would never be content being miserable all the time. Besides that gets old fast. I fight back the nausea of depression that struggles to pop out of my head like a new Athena. I don't let it. I have no interest in settling in, getting comfortable, and staying the same. I fight with J. less, I change jobs less often. I like what I do, and more importantly I like who I am becoming. Eventually, if I work hard, while I may not get it perfect, I may get there.