Compass

We bought the plane tickets. On July 29 we are moving to Northern Ireland. Saying that out loud feels surreal.

I have faced an immense amount of resistance with this turtle painting. Every time I think about working on it, my hands seem to find something else to do. My website needs updating, messages need answered, the kitchen needs cleaned.

This canvas is the largest one I have ever worked on, and it also happens to be the last canvas I have in my studio. The weight of that sits on my chest and is becoming heavier each day. I didn’t know why I felt drawn to paint a sea turtle. Often the meaning of what I paint reveals itself in the process. I’ve learned to trust my intuition as an artist and in general as a person just trying my best to live a good life. The resistance lingered, and guilt started to mix into my conscience.

In the middle of planning this move, I have had to think about shipping my paintings. All of them. Dozens of canvases that hold tons of work and pieces of my heart. The logistics alone feel overwhelming. Recently, I packaged a 30 by 40 painting for a collector in Montana. I wrapped it carefully, layering protection and tape, trying to imagine the unknown hands that would carry it across hundreds of miles. I wrote the collector a note in a thank you card. It was simply a prayer for what this painting would welcome into her space. I placed the prayer snug in the back of the painting between the canvas and wood frame and hoped it would add a layer of protection as this painting made its way to its new home.

Shipping dozens of paintings across an ocean is a much bigger task. This single shipment suddenly felt like training. A rehearsal for something far more intimidating, like running a 5K in preparation for a marathon. And I do not feel ready.

It is obvious that this is about more than shipping paintings. This is about uprooting our family, our routines, our comfort, and transplanting our lives across the ocean into a place that’s foreign and unknown. It is about leaving the familiar and stepping into a chapter that has not yet been written. It’s about saying goodbye. Letting go. And as I packaged this painting that I had poured my heart into, the goodbye was harder than I expected. A goodbye that was also a sort of training for the many to come.

A while ago, I made the decision to stop buying new canvases once my current supply ran out. This turtle painting is the final one. After this, I plan to work on loose canvas and paper so that shipping to my new home will be easier. When I realized that this painting marked the end of an era in my studio, the resistance suddenly made sense. This painting is a closing chapter.

It feels poetic that the subject is a sea turtle drifting through the deep blue ocean, exploring unknown waters. Sea turtles are known to travel thousands of miles in their lifetimes, sometimes more than ten thousand miles across entire ocean basins. They hatch on one stretch of sand, drift through open water for years, and eventually migrate between feeding grounds and nesting beaches, guided by an instinct scientists believe is tied to the Earth’s magnetic field. Female turtles even return to the very beach where they were born to lay their own eggs, finding their way back after journeys that can take months or years. They swim with purpose, crossing vast and unpredictable waters because their survival depends on movement. Staying in one place is simply not how they are meant to live. They are not wandering aimlessly. Their compass is a part of them, and they can’t help but follow it. I did not plan that symbolism, but it found me anyway, mirroring the journey unfolding in my own life. Funny how I will choose a subject to paint without a plan or intention, and it finds me exactly where I am. It guides me into the next phase of life. It helps me process. It’s like my inner compass knows what I need to paint. It’s looking out for me and my needs without me knowing.

I have always had adventure in my bones. For years I have said that I wanted to live in another country someday. It always felt like a distant idea, the kind of dream you say out loud but never quite expect to live. I found a partner who likes to dream as well. With him, dreams really do come true. My perfect mate. And the oceans I had to cross to find him were treacherous, but he’s truly worth enduring a tsunami.

Now we are standing at the edge of a vast ocean, dipping our toes in and surprised by the cold. But ankle deep now and growing used to the temperature. The tide rolls in and licks our calves. It feels fresh and inviting, telling us to wade in deeper.

I’ve never been good at swimming. I was never taught. But I am a fast learner. I am also brave. I have always been brave, bold, and daring.

Do you ever feel ready for something like this? I am not sure anyone truly does. Staying comfortable means staying stuck. It means being okay with stopping growth. Sometimes the right thing brings discomfort. Sometimes it asks you to move forward before you feel fully prepared. It reminds me of motherhood. Are you ever ready to be a mom? Do you really know what you’re in for? The concept of knowing is laughable, honestly. You don’t know what it’s like until you are in it. And then you either choose to love it and dive right in or you choose to resent it. But how could you have known? Still, it’s the best thing. Being a mother. As unprepared as you were, I bet you don’t regret it. I bet it’s the best thing you have ever done. The best things in life are a bit unknown at first. No matter how much training you do, you will never know until you are in it. Submerged in the sea, swimming thousands of miles with a purpose and a vision. Exploring the various shades of blue the sea has to offer. Experiencing the different textures and species of coral in this region or that. Saying yes to growth. Traveling thousands of miles to create new life.

Resistance is uncomfortable. Growth is painful. Goodbyes sometimes feel like the end even though they are usually the beginning of something. I am brave. And even though I never learned how to swim, I have all the tools I need to learn. I’m facing the unknown, and yes, I am afraid. I am grieving. But I am following the compass inside my heart. Just like I painted this turtle not knowing exactly why. Just like I plunged into motherhood not truly knowing what I had signed up for. I will trust that the guide inside me knows what my family needs. I will follow. I will fight against resistance and grow anyway, because the reward is worth it.