Finding My Why: A Day I'll Never Forget

I'm a sophomore in high school, sitting in my afternoon art class, listening to a lady named Betty Edwards discuss her book Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain. She captures my attention when she says, "Anyone can learn to draw. It requires zero talent. You just have to turn on your right brain."

It was my first time hearing about the right and left brain. I realized she was right and that all I had done my whole life—through memorization, math class, and studying facts and figures—had been to muscle up my left brain. My right brain, the more emotional and abstract side of me, had been neglected.

I grew up in a Greek household ruled by my macho father, who believed that "real men" don't cry. Women were expected to marry doctors, lawyers, or engineers, have babies, cook for their husbands, and keep a pristine " castle." I learned to suppress my emotions, cry alone, and get straight A's to secure a spot in a good college where I might meet my future husband. My right brain had atrophied.

Mrs. Edwards took us through a series of exercises designed to wake up our right brain. We completed drawing the left side of a vase that was also a face to mirror the right side. We flipped a line drawing of a man sitting in a chair upside down and drew it upside down on a blank sheet of paper. We practiced following the contour lines of our neighbor's face without looking at our paper. She spent three days with our class as a guest teacher, and I will never forget the experience.

By the second day, I could feel something inside of me shift. I started to feel a peace and focus that I had never felt before. For the first time, I lost awareness of myself, my insecurities, and my self-doubts.

My ego quieted as I stepped through a magical door and connected with something Divine that gave me eyes to see. I could see shapes and spatial relationships. I no longer made word associations for what I was drawing and only thought in terms of form. It was an incredible thrill to truly see all that I missed and glossed over in the past. It felt powerful.

 A Hunger for Greatness

I began practicing drawing, my new passion, in my room as I thought about the possibilities of my future. My dad had been telling me to look into colleges and think about where I wanted to apply as his sights on my future husband began to focus.

"Elli, if you go to my school, Washington State University, I will buy you any car you like."

"Dad, I don't want to live in some snowy village with a bunch of hick farmer boys. I'm thinking a California school is more my style." I answered.

"Oh, Elli, the boys are not farmers; they are veterinarians. Washington State has the best vet school in the nation. You love animals, and you can be a Cougar alumna like your dad!" My dad had his hopes for me, although I could see he was lowering his standards from doctor to veterinarian. He didn't care what I wanted to do. Girls with a Greek dad aren't allowed to dream.

But I did dream in spite of him. Only weeks ago, I had asked God to give me a talent. I was pretty good at a lot of things. Math, English, and history were my best subjects. I could play sports, debate, and write poetry.

But I was not great at any one thing. That is what I wanted. I wanted to be great. Since I could remember, I had felt like there was a quiet indwelling of greatness inside of me. Although this was only recognized in my brother, and my greatness could only come from marrying a great man, I still somehow believed I could be great too.

 What If I Could Be an Artist...

Sitting at my desk, drawing Marilyn Monroe's portrait, I dreamed of greatness as an artist. What if I could be on gallery walls or in a museum and found in history books with stories written about me? I didn't dare tell my dad about my aspirations or even talk about art school. I knew he would never, in a million years, allow me to go to an art school, fall in love with an artist, and live destitute for the rest of our lives.

I just couldn't stop thinking about art and suddenly being able to draw. What if God answered my prayer and I actually had talent? All I wanted to do was create now. I had a bunch of study halls on my schedule at school and didn't need them. What if I could convert these study halls to an independent art study? I asked the headmaster at my school, and she said because of my good grades, I could do it with the art teacher's approval.

The art teacher was happy to allow this but said, "You are on your own. I can't help you with painting or drawing. I'm a ceramicist." She showed me the supply room and gave me a large 30X40 canvas. She told me to use acrylic paint and that if I finished painting on this large canvas, she would give me credit.

I was elated with the freedom and self-direction and looked forward to the hour I could come in and paint each day. I started painting from my imagination two women with their floating heads surrounded by flowers and water reflections. I struggled to get the eyes to match, and one always sat slightly higher than the other, so I put a flower over the eye to conceal my problem.

I think I was painting myself and my duality. I was raised as a left-brained, academically inclined soul who would get her Mrs. degree, raise children, and cook for my man, but I hungered for more. I secretly strived for a life of greatness and achievement. I wanted to change the world. My aspirations and zeal stayed hidden under the flower of my femininity and role as a Greek girl.

 Devising a Plan

I finished my painting in mid-April, just before my dad's birthday. I knew it was special, and I was very proud of it. I didn't know that the women looked like eggheads and their proportions were off. I didn't know that it looked cartoony and naive. I only saw my future but realized my dad held the key to it. He was the one paying for my education and supporting me. I knew he would never let me go to art school.

My brother picked me up from school and helped me bring home my giant painting, and I told him to keep it a secret. I stored the painting in my closet and covered it with clothes. I vacillated on giving it to my dad for his birthday. I couldn't bear the idea of him laughing at me or ridiculing my newfound love for art.

I hated that his words could make or break me. I hated that he had that much power over me. I didn't feel confident in myself that I could go on with art if he said my painting sucked. I agonized for two weeks over whether or not to show him the painting.

The Decisive Moment

Finally, on the afternoon of his birthday, I decided to be brave and face the reality of my fate. My dad left work faithfully each day at 4:30 and was home by 5 p.m. on the dot. I was alone with my painting out of the closet, waiting for my dad on the back patio. His routine each day was to put down his key and the mail, grab a book or magazine, and come sit on the back patio and smoke a cigar.

Sick with dread mixed with hope, I waited for him with the painting turned around towards me. I heard his car pull up into the driveway and the garage door open. I heard his steps coming up the stairs to the front door. His keys jangled as they landed on the table where he placed the mail. I couldn't breathe and felt myself start to shake. I braced myself for his words and told myself, No matter what, don't let him see you cry.

He opened the back patio door and looked at me and then the back of the canvas. "Happy birthday, Dad. I painted this for you." The painting felt like a steel plate as I slowly turned it around. My dad just stared at it, looking at every square inch of it, saying nothing.

Then I saw his mouth drop, and his eyes become wet and shiny with emotion. I saw a tear form in the corner of his eye. I didn't know my dad was capable of crying.

He reached for my painting, quickly went into the house, and ran upstairs to his room. I knew he was embarrassed that I saw him cry. I was completely undone.

I ran to my room, threw myself on the bed, and bawled my guts out into the pillow. I knew what I had created had touched him deeply.

I told God I wanted to do that for the rest of my life.

 Lifelong Purpose Uncovered

That day, I understood the power of art. It had the power to bypass a macho Greek father, blow past his pride and scorn, override his damaged and wounded soul, penetrate his hardened and resistant heart, and melt it in the inferno of the magic of art.

I knew this was my calling, my purpose, and my destiny.

The day my painting made my dad cry has become my WHY. Whenever things got difficult, and I felt discouraged or maybe even wanted to quit, I remembered this moment. This moment carried me through the years and caused me to experience similar triumphs that have built my life.

Find your WHY. Everyone has a profound reason for doing what they do. Knowing your WHY creates longevity of purpose, and that creates legacy.

Have you ever experienced a decisive moment that exposed your "why," the profound reason you do what you do? 

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