The beginning....

I suppose it helps to understand a little bit of background about me in order to get a better understanding of the whole picture. I am the first of three children. The oldest. By nature, the oldest is always the perfectionist, the overachiever, the "make mom and dad" happy child. I sometimes wonder if I do the latter or not, but I've learned that it can't weigh as heavily on my heart if I don't anymore. But, I am, I suppose, a perfectionist and overachiever in most all of the areas of my life. At least the areas that matter to me (don't look at my house, because even though I would LOVE for the house to be perfectly clean and stuff, frankly, it just isn't at the top of the list). Knowing these two things, helps to better understand the immense amount of pressure that I apply to myself. A crazy amount.

You see, a few years back, I (along with my very supportive husband) decided that I would embark on a new career. I'd been dabbling in this venture for several years previously and it had been growing into a little baby monster of sorts so much so that I was practically working two full-time jobs (my actual paycheck receiving job and this adventure of sorts I labeled "Wag's Creations"). So I took the plunge. I did it. I cut the cords and no longer received that every two week paycheck. And oh my goodness was that stressful. It was now up to me to make money. I couldn't just show up, attend some meetings, disburse some knowledge, lead some minions and expect a reward in my bank account every two weeks now. I actually had to physically make the money. So I set about creating my own personal EMPIRE. LOL. What was I thinking?!?!

For a couple years, I worked my butt off (funny though, it is still there and ever expanding) with creating my creations and making custom orders and filling up booth after booth at show after show. Cramming more and more stuff into my Wag's Mobile as I called the 10+ year old minivan without any back seats that I used to haul my loot. On any given day, I may not have woken up until 9am but I didn't usually go to bed before 2:30 or 3 or later the night/morning before. I just HAD to do one more coat of paint on this or tie one more ribbon on that or whatever the heck it was that I was doing at the time. I just HAD to. And then it all stopped....April 7, 2013.

The weekend of April 5-7, 2013 a dear friend of mine, and I were set up at a show in the old Farmer's Market building in downtown Oklahoma City.  It was a horrible show.  We didn't really know what kind of show to expect, but this show was not any of the ones that we wanted or even imagined.  For 2 days we hung out in our booth, talking to every single person (granted there were not many) that walked by or even looked our way.  We just had drawn a short straw on this show.  That Sunday, April 7, I was stressing because as a self-employed artist, you really rely on your shows as a quick influx of cash to tide you over for a certain time period.  Yes, I have booths in several marketplaces, but those pay once a month, usually around the 5th of the following month for the current month's sales.  So, if you have unexpected (or expected) expenses that you need to pay or if there is inventory or supplies that you want and/or need to purchase for upcoming events, and you have a bad show then your ability to move forward is stalled a bit.

As the show was drawing to a close, I was not feeling great.  Ok, I admit...I was feeling horrible.  My head was killing me...a slow painful death.  I could not wait to get out of that place.  I just attributed it all to the fact that I was miserable from the bad show.  As we are tearing down, I carry my first box to the Wag's Mobile and start to come back in through the double doors that lead in from the parking lot.  In the interior doors are two elderly women standing there staring at the vendors tearing their booths down, and the one woman says to the other one, "Is it over?"  And I lean forward to tell them it is and when I open my mouth and say, "Yes, it ended at 4" much to my horror that was not the words or voice that I heard come out of my mouth.  It sounded like a garbled mess.  The two old women turned and looked at me as I caught myself against the door jamb and slid down onto the floor.  The taller of them grabbed the other's arm and said, "let's go.  Don't touch her, she may be on drugs" and all I could do was reach out my right arm and try to say, "help me".  It did not come out sounding like that though. 

to be continued....