The Detour Years
When I got sidetracked from my art career (for just a handful of decades — no big deal), I conducted job interviews.
I don’t remember much about them — there were hundreds over the years — except the discomfort. The chair. My shoes. The lights. The stale air. The way the candidate and I smiled at each other, both pretending we actually wanted to be there.
“What did you want to be when you grew up?”
It wasn’t relevant to the job. I probably shouldn’t have asked it.
But I did. Every time.
Without fail, their faces lit up. They told me about becoming doctors, teachers, aerospace engineers, race car drivers, musicians, artists — all sorts of change-the-world things.
For a moment, we weren’t strangers.
For a moment, we were transported out of that fluorescent-lit room — that space bound to end up in disappointment one way or another – to a place of connection, recognition, and remembering who we were.
Just like that, with one small question, the whole mood shifted. Something expanded.
I wanted to tell them to run.
I wanted to run, too.
I didn’t. Not for a long time.
What I know now — what I didn’t know then — is that those detour years matter. The wrong jobs. The risks. The compromises. The distractions. The successes. The heartbreaks.
They are the layers.
They’re what give texture to our lives.
And now, as a full-time artist, I bring that understanding to the canvas:
First, I begin with intention and a palette, knowing full well my painting will turn out nothing like I have planned.
Next, I know my job is simply to:
Keep going, trusting my intention and heart to lead the way.
Fall back on what I know — composition, value, form, and light.
Notice and move toward what feels alive — a brushstroke, a line, or a mark I love.
Accept that there will be — MUST be — layers of choices, frustration, hard decisions, and letting go. Without them, there is no depth or history.
Trust that the painting will be finished when it’s ready. There are no shortcuts.
In the end, each painting surprises me — yet feels unmistakably like mine.
Petals.
Memory.
Layers.
Texture.
Wherever you are today — whether in your detour years or long past them — I wish you moments of remembering.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
You can find my available work here.
Sending you peace, love, and painting,
Julie
