Daily Paintings

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Today is my mom’s birthday — Happy Birthday, Mom!

We didn’t realize it at the time, but when I was 6 years old, my mom was prophetic.

The year I was in Second Grade, for some reason I got stuck in the middle reading group, and I was bored. I finished the entire semester’s worth of reading in a few days, so my teacher gave me the workbook for the second semester, which I finished that afternoon.

Eventually, the school got wise and put me in a more challenging level, but in the meantime, I started adding curlicues to all of my letters. (Clearly, I was a child who [thankfully] found quietly creative, rather than disruptive, ways to act out!)

Mom and Pop liked to say I was the reincarnation of a Medieval monk, and were convinced I was going to grow up to be an artist.

I, on the other hand, found that notion ridiculous. I was going to be a vet!

Just goes to show you, Mom is always right!

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Did you know that habits create physical pathways in your brain? This is why breaking one is so crazy hard — you are literally wired to keep doing it!

The key? To form a new habit to replace the old one. It’s almost impossible to wipe out an existent pathway, but you can use that pathway for something new.

Kind of cool, huh?

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When I was sixteen years old, my friend Julie and I would huddle in her family room or mine, giggling about boys, gossiping about what was happening at high school, and fantasizing about someday going to Juilliard.

That was before I’d taken my first “real” dance class, or maybe not long afterwards. And the funny thing is, I totally forgot about those giggly tête-à-têtes.

It wasn’t until a few years later, when I made the crazy decision to audition for Juilliard that it came back to me.

Those conversations planted a seed, and my commitment and conviction kept me persisting, even when my body hurt, when all reason would have had me stop.

A lot of bad things resulted from my obsession with dance, including a vicious eating disorder, and almost losing my friendship with Julie. I don’t know if, given a chance, I’d advise my 16-year-old self to focus so intently on a passion that treated her like an abusive lover.

Yet I’m proud of that younger me for her conviction and grit. You go, girl.

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All the cats I’ve had as an adult have been skittish things, until Nika.

Before driving to the house where I would meet her for the first time as a kitten, I remember a conversation on the phone with her “mom.” There were four kittens left from the litter, she said, two of whom would hide under the nearest piece of furniture if she dropped a pan on the floor.

Nika and her brother, on the other hand, bolted right over to see what had happened.

That’s my extroverted kitty to this day — her curiosity is much stronger than her fear.

I can learn a lot from my cat!