I stepped up to my easel in my home studio on a wet, snowy day, paints and sketches in hand.
With a candle lit and my phone tucked away, I traveled back in time to a visit I made to the Iris Country Garden in Geneva, NY.
As my brush hit the canvas, I let myself sink into the smells of the blooming irises and peonies. I felt the warmth of the June sun on my face. I heard the hanging laundry clapping in the wind as it air dried on the line, and the laughter of the kids running through the garden paths without a care in the world.
The scene I re-immersed myself in was one I had experienced first hand more than two years ago, standing in stark contrast to my feelings in the present moment on this dreary, late autumn day:
Fear and worry for the future. Sympathy for others in my life who are suffering. Panic driving my mind, and a relentless anxiety sitting shotgun, directing me down the unpaved terrain of things I can't control.
It's in these moments that I can let those unwanted feelings envelope me.
Or, I can do my best to shift to a place of peace by recentering myself in the life experiences I've had that reignite the feelings I desire more of...
The feelings that remind me that no matter the heaviness of the current moment, everything will be okay.
On this dark, snowy day, it was the plein air painting excursion my friend Meg and I took to the Iris Country Gardens. It was the kindness of the Martin sisters, who bought the farm a few years ago and are creating a masterpiece all their own. It was the memory of exchanging the painting I did that day for a beautiful peony plant that continues to bring life to many of my paintings.
On other days, I travel back to the hills of southern France. Or to quiet mornings with my newborn grandkids. Or to a bench sitting lakeside in the Adirondacks.
I recall the sights. The sounds. The smells. And they bring back the feelings I need more of in that moment:
Feelings of love, fulfillment, joy, laughter, and gratitude.
It's not necessarily an escape from reality; it's a way to make the reality mean more. It's a way to wrap the darker feelings with light, giving me perspective to focus on what I can control, and to stop listening to the anxiety sitting in that passenger seat.
Plein air painting not only gives me the opportunity to stand in a place for more than 10 minutes to really absorb the feelings and the sensations; it gives me the freedom to go back to that place any time I need to.
In painting the clothesline at the beautiful Iris Country Garden, I calmed my spirit and felt more present than I possibly could've had I let the fear, worry, sympathy, panic, and anxiety define the day.
My hope is that you can do the same, particularly through this holiday season.
That you can take pieces of the experiences that have filled your cup, find them when you need them most, and remember:
Everything is going to be okay.