Pax

This evening, I chatted with my Mom about the day I had. Often, I’ll decompress with her after I drop off Atlas, which I imagine is hard for her to process – knowing the pain I encounter every time I have to say goodbye to my son. It doesn’t get easier, any more than diabetics get used to stabbing themselves with a needle several times a day.

After sharing some of the events/wins from my work day, she asked me a question that made me think for a moment:

“Aaron, do you enjoy what you do?”

In a split second, I felt as if I got an eagle-eye view on my entire career – if you want to call it that. I remembered the hungry 20-something that drove to LA in 39 hours, all of the conversations I had with early clients where I tried to prove myself and the countless moments where I didn’t know how the bills would get paid.

Those years weren’t hard years. They were defining years; the sort of times that help a man discover his true mettle, talent and ability. Life is very different now, and I’m eternally grateful for the long road(s) that have led to this moment of peace, contentment and joy.

I once painted a piece that I looked at with a great deal of pride, because it represented the turning point in my journey as an artist. It was the first piece I’d ever created that I knew could carry a 5-figure price tag to the right buyer, and it felt like a ‘thesis’ piece to hang on the wall.

The problem with the piece is that I knew I could never sell it, because I loved it too much. To this day, it’s the ‘best’ piece I’ve ever created and I loved it. So, I made up my mind that I’d never sell the piece – hanging it in my bedroom as a ‘private reserve’ piece.

No soon had I hung up the piece, I realized it didn’t belong to me. It was like a voice was telling me:

“Aaron, that painting belongs to Dave.”

Dave, a close friend of mine who was instrumental in helping me transition from scrappy freelancer to a six-figure agency owner, felt like the rightful owner of the piece, even though he had never seen it before.

I fought that voice for nearly three months, wondering if it was just a passing feeling that would dissipate with time. It didn’t. Rather, it kept growing louder and louder – to the point where the painting itself seemed to scream at me “I belong to Dave!”

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to give it to Dave. Rather, I was somewhat scared to give him the piece, because he’s one of the few people I know that would tell me if he didn’t like it. Dave, after all, has some of the best artistic taste and flair of anybody I’ve ever met.

One night, I called Dave and blurted out what had been bottling up inside of me for months.

“Dave, I have a painting here that I feel belongs to you. I can’t keep it any longer and I wondered if I could drop it off.”

He didn’t even ask to see a picture of it. Rather, he welcomed me to his home that week where I could arrange for a pass-off of the ‘fostered’ painting.

To this day, I remember how I felt as I knocked on his door with the painting in hand – knowing full well that his first reaction would be a truthful one.

He loved it. He loved it enough to hang it in a promient place in his home – and it never looked better, finally ‘home’.

When I look back at that painting/story, I realize that it was about far more than a painting. Rather, it was a story about growth, development, release and finding peace in letting go. See, I loved that painting more than any other – but I love it more knowing that it’s hanging in Dave’s home, cherished and adored by somebody other than just me – somebody with true taste.

That painting was about the journey that I’ve been on, as well as the man, artist and person that I’ve developed into over the years since I first started on my journey as a businesman, artist and man. The fire of life has burned away a lot of things that were no longer serving me (and continues to) and has left me with something money can’t buy.

Peace.

Peace doesn’t mean that emotions are anesthetized. Rather, it’s having a rock of tranquility even in the fiercest of storms life life throws your way. There’s something divine about knowing that all is well – or will be soon – even when life is uncertain.

“Do I enjoy what I do, Mom?” I paused “No. I love it.”