i left my job

Today I am channeling a lil Carrie Bradshaw moment after absolutely OBLITERATING the first three seasons of Sex and the City recently, typing this out while crossing my legs like bona fide business woman. I also slept on my neck so wrong last night, so imagine my head at a 45 degree angle, laptop propped up high so it meets my eyes. Can you say girlboss?

“There is never a right time to take a leap of faith,” my therapist told me over zoom a couple of months ago. Since being medicated and now that the Spring sun is seeping into my pores, I really only see her through a teeny webcam once every few weeks, where she’s been responding to my same statement for close to a year - “I think I’ll be able to quit my job soon.” Two sessions ago, though, the sentiment changed. “I think I need to quit my job” slipped out of my lips halfway through the conversation, somewhere between “were you and the family able to see the eclipse?” and “I am considering religion.” It came after I found myself taking a client call about ten minutes before my children’s art class started, burrowed away in a storage room of paint supplies.

I know I got you non-profit girlies with the relatability of this next statement: the arts organization game is no joke. I have been wading in it since I graduated at this point, treading water with like-minded creative types who were also trying to figure out their own footing. Nowhere else can you absorb the energy of such inspiration and talent on such a consistent basis while simultaneously facing the inability to pay off a monthly parking ticket from the city road on which you work. I am not here to shit-talk non profit organizations, but to set the scene.

The thing is, my goal has never been to lead a department or manage anyone besides myself really - I thought it was at one point, though, as a high school student who loved girl-in-big-city movies like 13 Going on 30. The content I consume has not changed much, but the urge to contort myself into someone else’s vision of success has. So, lately I had been asking what that next step was going to be, if not traipsing through the streets of Manhattan like a badass Miranda Preistly type. The more I looked into my working history, the more it became evident that I was always looking for a cushion in case my own business didn’t work out, without realizing that exact cushion is the reason I never had the time or full drive to do what needed to be done for myself. Nothing like the fear of not meeting rent to make you pull yourself up by your bootstraps.

So we arrive here, in the gray area between holding onto working for someone else and reorganizing my small business to support myself. I look forward to the time when I look back in this moment and am confident that I made the right decision. For now, it feels like I am at the tippy top of a roller coaster.

“I couldn’t help but wonder: Can you get to a future if your past is present?” [SATC Season 5, Episode 3, “The Perfect Present”].

finding peace in winter as an artist with SAD, GAD, and the rest

It’s that time of year again when everything gets shut down from back to back snowstorms, and when the only cloudless source of sunlight I can get is from my roommate’s depression lamp.

That being said, I have found some newfound love for winter time, even as someone with a dose of seasonal depression on top of some pretty severe anxiety; oftentimes, I find that a step outside in freezing temperatures can curb impending panic attacks, and I’ve been using that energy towards shoveling like a maniac every evening this week.

There is something spiritual in the menial and repetitive action of shoveling - I cannot help but to feel connected to Mother Nature or some sort of peaceful, omnipotent companion in the cold night sky. It could be the way I am still processing grief over some tough losses around this time last year (friends who I’d like to think watch over me now), or it could be that 20 degrees kills the brain cells responsible for feeling fear. Sometimes, I really wish I was religious but this feels close enough lately.

Beyond this weird calming sensation I have been experiencing while clearing absolute buttloads of snow from the sidewalk, I have also experienced that it has inspired me to sit down and paint again. In my constant state of posting and doing business-y things, post holiday season is sort of a good time to rekindle the warmth I have for traditional mediums. The artistic inspirations I get from the brisk outdoors are not necessarily visual ones - as I am missing the typically saturated (and alive) colors of nature I incorporate - but visceral ones. It’s a reset button; the heavy snow dampens the sound of the rest of the world, who are all home anyway.

Anywho, I am excited for my current projects and my general wintery outlook in a way that I feel like is unprecedented for me during a January. Is it the new dose of SSRIs or the self-inflicted hypothermia? You tell me.

Reading this back, I realize how much it sounds like I am unhinged antivaxxer type and on shrooms or something. I’m not, I just really want to tell you to go out and shovel sometimes.

the solitude of self employment

Autumn is almost officially here in Western, NY, which means my preferred lifestyle of cafe-hopping and latte-drinking is at its peak. Prior to settling into Five Points with my laptop and a sweet chai, I had a meeting with some clients to go over the design of their annual report, which is probably one of the only face-to-face client interactions I’ll get this week; I am reflecting on that reality now as I send follow up emails.

The the one thing I am not sure anyone prepared me in self-employment for was the loneliness - a strong word, but maybe the closest one - of working for yourself. While the highs are pretty high (no stinkin’ boss to complain about), the quietness can feel low at times (I can’t complain about my boss to anyone).

Last summer, I taught some private lessons to a retired couple, who also happened to be business owners in their heyday - there is an excitement in speaking with other folks who are or were in the same boat as you - about the joys of having no one manage you. "I don't report to anyone, and I love it," I had told the husband over a pot of coffee he had graciously made for the three of us, after conquering their first lesson in charcoal. Like clockwork, they both chuckled while they shot each other a knowing glance. "Well, that's not really true," he responded, "you just answer to your customers now."

That statement stays with me regularly as I interact with the folks that support and follow me on social media, as I think it is usually the easiest answer for communicate my business hapennings; while I try my best to interact with my peers there, it often feels like a one-way conversation (not their fault, mine - I gotta answer those damn DMs better). As a big ole fan of Miley Cyrus, I will quote her recent Billboard interview, where she explains her reasoning for quitting stadium tours: "singing for hundred of thousands of people isn't really the thing I love...it's so isolating because if you're in front of 100,000 people, then you are alone." I am not trying to compare myself to the great All-American Pop Star behind Hannah Montana, but her words come to me occasionally in small moments, like when I throw a cute poll up on my Instagram stories. After one tap to mark their opinion, folks are literally gone in miliseconds.

I attempt to combat the stereotypical image of a couch sitting, antisocial WFH-er in a few ways - by alternating true work from home days with library ones, meeting with vendors in person, and thinking of myself as a perpetual student, always learning and changing. However, it takes a good amount of continuous physical and mental effort to do these things, and I miss the professional, collaborative energy of my old office jobs (gross!). I did, after all, go to school for Communication. A bitch loves to communicate.

I would love to know from my fellow full time small business owners, or even others who simply work from home, on how they find calm in their solitude, because I definitely don't have an answer yet. For now, I will tap on my little computer and enjoy this pumpkin cream cheese cookie.

-Akasya

my first blog post, live from france

I feel crazed and intelligent in a mad scientist way this evening because my clock is in military time. I am dehydrated as all hell, eating a baguette DRY, and stand-typing at a kitchen counter because I was kicked out of the airbnb bedroom I am sharing with my sister. “Why are you typing so much? What time is it?” I don’t know, my clock is in military time. My friends are very much still active in the group chat right now, so it feels okay.

I have pushed off using this site to blog, as I am first and foremost a very visual person who honestly doesn’t have the patience for any super long form art - even when I paint, I generally plan to finish it on the next day; is this healthy? No! I think it has something to do with the fact that I have monetized my artwork and therefore I’m hardwired with the urge to work quickly - even if it’s something I love - under this capitalistic hellscape we call home. Also, I think my dad may have made me think I was a republican in middle school when my brain was still a little mushy. These topics are for a different time.

Because I have never been much of a journal-er or steady sketchbook keeper due to lack of focus, I’ve found my memory to be absolute garbage. I cannot tell if it is ADHD, social media making me think I have ADHD, social media causing me to have ADHD, or literally because every person has ADHD. Anyway, wouldn’t it be nice to remember the memories that form us through something more tangible and consistent? I think so.

So here we go.

I finally bit the bullet on writing this evening on the first night of our three week long excursion to visit our family in France. The rest of my family sleeps in this half-timbered apartment complex in the heart of Troyes - we’ve traveled for a day and half via planes, trains, automobiles, and foot. We are tired and they are snoring. I have passed the point of the regular amount of awake hours, and I think my brain thinks it’s morning and time to be productive. These topics are for a different time.

I will find a lot of inspiration on this trip because I always do when I visit here - and it’s been five years since we’ve been here last. I have evolved technically but I am not sure how much I have grown as an artist. This is not my way of fishing for compliments (please give me compliments, though), but a way for me to put it in writing that I need to push myself to question my art making practice. I am so lucky to be able to make a living off the things I make, but I find myself feeling nostalgic for art school, when I faced criticism because I was creating work that invited critique.

On this trip, I want to find a way to say something of value, ask myself questions, and find where the aesthetics/mediums I use meet those questions.

I am starting with this blog. I hope I develop the patience to update it regularly, because I have really enjoyed writing to no one this evening. And for now, a cup of lukewarm water before bed.

Your friend,

bisou bisou,

Akasya