Field Note: Closed Doors, Mutinies, Shipwrecks, and Changes in Course

There are times I have thought my life was made up of mistakes. That I was a mistake.

Wrong jobs. Wrong people. Wrong timing. Projects abandoned. College experiences that felt hollow. Bosses who questioned me. Supervisors who suggested I leave. Editors who were sharp. Owners who were dismissive. People who looked at me with confusion and asked:

"What is going on with you?"

For a long time, I believed them. I thought there must be something wrong with me. Too sensitive. Too emotional. Too dreamy. Too ambitious. Too much. I had a hard, messed up childhood. So yes. Obviously. It must be me. It must be how I was not raised.

I was told to be humble. For wanting more. I was told not to think too highly of myself. For having higher standards. I was made to feel that wanting more, creating more, imagining more, somehow meant I believed I was better than other people.

But. that. was. NEVER. true. I wasn't thinking of anyone like that.

I recognize now that what was often labeled as superiority, arrogance, or "needing to be humbled" was often discernment. It was me noticing unhealthy behavior, low standards, manipulation, or a lack of accountability. Rather than examine themselves, some people projected that discomfort back onto me.

I was not sitting around comparing myself to other people. I was not trying to prove I was better. I was not trying to make anyone feel small.

Most of the time, I was barely thinking about other people at all. I was thinking about my own frustration. My own hopes. My own fear that I was not enough.

I was striving. I was trying. I was trying to build something better.

At times I had three jobs. I had a baby and completed a masters degree program. Imperfectly. I worked my ass off.

And when other people mocked me, taunted me, rolled their eyes, or acted threatened by my effort, it hurt. It hurt because I was already hard enough on myself. I did not need other people adding to it. And I did questions myself.

“What am i doing wrong? I’m trying harder.”

I was frustrated. Grit-your-teeth frustrated with myself and others. And getting angry.

I wasn't trying to make anyone feel small. I was trying to find where I fit. I wanted to elevate. I wanted the world to elevate. I was trying to touch beauty. I was trying to build a life that felt real and valuable, not just accidental.

Looking back now, I wonder if many of the closed doors were not failures at all. Maybe the mutinies were blessings. Maybe they were redirections. Maybe they were course changes. Good ones. Wise ones.

Maybe I was not being rejected because I had no value. Maybe I was being moved away from places that could not hold who I really was. Moved away from people who would only keep me small.

Some rooms reward obedience. Some reward sameness. Some reward being easy to overlook. Some reward how you make leadership LOOK.

And maybe I was never meant to stay small enough for those rooms.

That does not mean those experiences did not hurt. They did.

I've got some serious wounds. Some wounds still hurt. Some give me bad dreams and sick-to-my-stomach feelings.

There are years I grieve. Days I want to stay in bed. Opportunities I wish had gone differently. Opportunities I wish I had SKIPPED. Times I wish I had gone differently, if it were possible. Versions of myself I wish had been better protected.

God, to be protected. To be shielded. To not allow others to say or do whatever in my presence because I have no authority over them.

But I can also see that every difficult experience taught me something.

It taught me to advocate for myself. Even if just internally. I learned to keep myself safe.

That is hard when you were taught you were always the problem. That you had to change. That you made others uncomfortable. That it was your fault.

But this taught me to recognize manipulation. It taught me that systems often fail sensitive, creative people, people that were acting in good faith and not with political or social motives.

It taught me how important beauty, softness, home, creativity, and quiet are to me.

It taught me that I do not want to spend my life trying to earn belonging from people who cannot see me and really only are using me to be part of their entourage or audience. Another point of extraction.

I do not want to be extracted from.

Most of all, it taught me that maybe I am not here to fit into someone else’s world.

I am here to create my own.

That is what A Dawn Every Day Artist is. Not a business alone. Not just art.

A place. A soft landing. A quiet rebellion. A reminder that not every closed door is failure. Sometimes it is simply life nudging us toward the place we were always meant to build.

And perhaps that is the real lesson:

I was never lost. I was becoming.

Maybe I will regret these words.

In a year, maybe this will be another mistake. Another lesson.

I want to start winning. Thriving. Not just surviving.

But I do not know the ending yet.

The ending defines the journey, and I do not have an ending.

So I have complete control right here, right now.

So I say: bon voyage.

I have the stars in my sights.

My compass. My work. My sextant.

Right now defines the journey.

And right now, it is glorious.

And I want that for everyone. Not just for myself.