I am on a journey, a journey that I thought was all about self discovery, but I have found it to be so much more.
It all started when I was turned down by yet another potential employer who thought I should get off my butt, get organized and get some skills. After I got up off the floor of the reception area and dusted myself off I turned to pick up the scattered pages of my hand written resume' that was still fluttering to the floor. It was then I noticed that not everyone in the room was staring at me. Off in the far corner sat a middle aged woman who was scribbling something in a book in her hands. Intrigued, I grabbed up the papers on the floor and sat down a few chairs away from her and pretended to sort my papers. I watched her from the corner of my eye wondering what she was writing about. Finally after a long two or three minutes I plopped down right beside her and asked her point blank what she was doing. The woman looked up and took in the the whole picture of what makes me 'me'. I know by the look on her face that she took in the spiky hair and the crazy clothes that I wore, but also the fact that I wore very little makeup. She saw the crumpled papers in my hand and shook her head.
"You're artistic, a creative sort of person aren't you?" She asked. I agreed that yes, I did enjoy playing around with paints or clay or even on occation a carving knife or two. "Well then, perhaps you should come out to this address tonight" she said as she handed me a piece of paper, "and take this free course that is being offered. It's all about art journalling. All you need to bring is a blank page journal and a simple pencil to start with." She started to show me a page in her 'so called' art journal when she was called into the office that I was just so rudely escorted out of.
I shoved the paper into my pocket, stood up, threw my shoulders back and held my head up high. I walked out of that office like I had just gotten the job that was offered and I was important, instead of the pathetic loser that I really was.
Later that evening curiousity got the best of me and I found myself pulling into the parking lot of a church. I double checked the address on the paper I had stuffed in my pocket. It was right. Well, I decided right then and there that I would take from this night what I wanted and I would leave all that religious junk where it belonged. I got out of my car and started across the parking lot towards the intimidating building. Half way there I changed my mind and I turned back to my car.
"Oh good, I see you made it," a voice called out from my left. I turned to see the woman I had met earlier. "I forgot to introduce myself earlier" she said as she held out her clean, manicured hand. "I'm Jean."
I mumbled that I was Samantha, Sam for short and I took her tiny hand in mine and gave it a good shake. I told her that I really couldn't stay, that churches made me uncomfortable.
"Oh, no need to worry about that," Jean said as she tugged her hand free. "I am teaching the class and it is open to everyone. We won't be preaching at you tonight or any night. It's just a bunch of artistic women who get together and do their art journal journey." At that she pulled gently at my elbow and guided me across the parking lot and up the stairs of a building I hadn't entered since childhood.