Toxic Job to Artist Pipeline
Have you ever started something and the second you try it, you know you’ll never stop? I’ve only experienced that once, and it was evident following my first pottery class.
I stumbled to pottery at one of my lowest points of post-grad life. I had just quit a miserable job with nothing lined up and no plan. I had been working with amazing students that I loved and was heartbroken to leave, but was quickly eroding from the hostile work environment led by my bully for a manager who did her best to crush whatever career confidence a ~23 year-old can have. The anxiety that I’d been carrying for all of my life—shout out people pleasing and a fear of authority—mounted to a pressure I’d never experienced; panic attacks in my car on lunch breaks, the incapability to stomach breakfast before work, nightly racing thoughts keeping me up for hours, and jolting at every text or email notification.
I was mean to myself. Like, really mean. I believed that I was weak and that this just must be what all real jobs are. Maybe I needed thicker skin? Ever since I can remember, I internalized that being ‘too sensitive’, whatever that means, was one of my major downfalls. It seemed like everyone else had their shit together. I’ve never been someone who quits or gives up, and this time I eventually did. Part of me only ascribed ‘success’ to a very narrow demographic of accomplishments: grad school, med school, law school, scientist, career rockstar, the stereotypically applauded pathways. Everyone in my life assured me that quitting was the right thing to do, but at the time, I couldn’t help but feel like a failure.
During my two months of unemployment in a consistently declining job market, my angel of a partner, along with the best therapist I could have ever asked for, were the only constants through the blur of passing days. The chronically online phrase “touch grass” somehow wound up as a daily mantra. Being outside, enduring another Louisiana summer, felt like the only positive thing I could control. Getting out of the house, inexpensively, was desperately needed, and by some miracle, I landed at a pottery studio.
By myself and with my AirPods, I picked out a mug for $20. With unlimited time and glaze at no additional cost, I sat for hours, listened to the orchestral music I played in college, and just was. Something inexplicable about the environment was comforting and encouraging, and I didn’t feel like a bother or a failure to anyone. I kept coming back, picking out a pre-made piece to paint, subliminally digesting the hung signs advertising the studio’s month-long beginner class for an introduction to the wheel.
Almost a full year later, I was thankfully settled into a new job at a fantastic nonprofit organization with lovely colleagues that I adore. I started anxiety medication for the first time. I was beginning to understand my sensitivities as strengths, finally recognizing that the lifetime of that weight I’d been burdened by didn’t have to be my norm. Maybe most importantly, I remembered the beginner wheel class that I could now afford. I took two month-long courses back to back, obsessively watching instructional YouTube videos and Instagram reels in between classes. I picked it up quickly and fell in love. My luck didn’t end, and my local studio opened a second location, a members’ studio with 24/7 access, and I immediately leapt at the chance.
I’m not a religious person, but part of me believes that the universe is looking out for me in a way that I can’t understand. The timing of everything that led to the start of my pottery journey feels like kismet, as if it were always meant to happen this way. The privilege of having a job that doesn’t energetically suck me dry, along with access to a studio, is not lost on me, and I make the daily decision to not waste the opportunity. I’m learning more about myself than ever, and I know clay in its many forms is something I’ll pursue in some capacity for the rest of my life. SO - I’m choosing to dream big, authentically, face my fear of failure, and to go for it. Even if I’m not sure what going for it looks like yet. Thanks for being here.
Just a girl trying to figure it out,
Cam
