My post yesterday was, in part, a stall tactic. The average journal post is 350-500 words, and yesterday’s was almost 1000. I knew when it was complete; I had nothing left to do but draw. It was nerve-wracking. And why? Where was the artistic gusto and flare from last August? I know not. Still, after dinner, a long walk, and some time on my phone, I sat down to draw.

For a bit of a structure boost, I bought an online drawing course through Udemy. (It’s a great platform with lots of low-cost classes covering a wide range of subjects. BTW, never pay full price. There’s always a discount.) The course contains 17 units, about 20 minutes in length. Even an act as simple as starting the first video brought me to tears. It’s embarrassing.

Within the first five seconds, I'm hooked. The course instructor- Brent Eviston- began the lesson by discussing the talent myth. (The talent myth is the idea some people are more qualified to do something than others. Of course, some people are more mentally or physically able to do certain tasks, but that doesn’t mean shit.) He went on to talk about how drawing is a skill, and like any skill, anyone can learn it. Brent’s approach is exactly what I need to hear.

After Brent’s reassurance, he discussed lines all types of lines. Then he mentioned real artists like Degas and Michelangelo. They used soft imperfect lines too. This was a subtle yet powerful teaching tool. Art and its creation are often seen as magic—artists revered as gods, and their work a type of miracle. Mr. Eviston erased that gap in minutes without hype or rancor. I loved it. He brought the greats down to my level.

The video ended with an assignment to draw lines for 30 minutes. So I did. It was glorious. I drew short lines, long lines, circles, and a face. The goal was to do the work rather than create. I filled four pages with lines over my 30 minutes. And then, I felt it- the unburdened itch to do. After months of shame and self-pity, the most simple of desires resurfaced in my gut. Thanks be to God.

The fear of a thing is always greater than the reality of the thing. I’m drawing, from the comfort of my apartment, with nothing on the line. DRAW-ING. But, before my lesson, I was in tears. At the moment, I would’ve donated a kidney rather than put pencil to paper. Isn’t that strange? Seriously. WTF? I made it, though. One day down, the rest of my life to go.

(The tree above is a doodle from this afternoon. It’s my first one in months.)