Dear diary,

Today, I finished the painting. Yes, the painting I have worked on since I was 11. I finished it. 13 years later. I’m done. With the painting, with my parents, with that life. This feel like the end of an era. A truly remarkable era. The end of submission, and the beginning of authority. I feel like I’ve surpassed that stage in my life where I needed permission to be me, you know. Like, I’m at that point where it just feels right to be myself. To be free. To follow my dreams. To live, laugh and love. Get it? Like, the thing everyone says. Haha, I’m so funny. Okay seriously, this is the beginning of new things for me. No more Cotillion, no $2,000 dresses that are uncomfortable than good-looking. All done. I am free.

I look back to the top of this painting and I am proud. Yes, I painted from top to bottom. And I’ll tell you why. I started with the hat. Mother had just bought me a new straw hat for the charity horse show that Father was hosting, and I hated it. No, I really despised it. It’s no wonder I stayed under it all day. I simply sat in the commentators’ booth, with this urging desire to go home, and wear shorts and a flannel, and play the guitar and sing Carrie Underwood. But here I was, stuck at a charity event, on a hot summer day, with sand everywhere, in a white sundress, doing everything I hated. I despised that hat, so I hid under it and pretended to sleep. I shielded me from the sun, and the dust in my nose, because it fell over my face. And at that time, it shielded me from my parents. From the life I so hated. So I went home, and I started painting. A hat. Just a plain ole hat at the top and center of the canvas. The shield in my dreadful battle. The battle against my world. I immediately cherished that painting. More than any heirloom that adorned my room furniture. It became my favorite thing. However, it required inspiration to continue. The inspiration which never came until I turned 16.

I was walking home from school because I hated driving, which annoyed Mother, and made me glad. My kilt was feeling extremely tight. I felt like I had gained 50 pounds since lunch. I was so uncomfortable, and in so much pain, I began to cry. I cried all the way home and for some reason, the tears would not stop. Eventually, Father called the doctor and I was taken to the hospital. I was expecting a baby. I was not surprised, but my parents looked like they’d seen a ghost. I was happy about this for some reason. Very happy. The whole car ride, I talked about baby names and everything nice. Then my mother stopped me eventually and said, “Lor, you’re going to have to marry the father, or abort it”. I sat there and stared because neither of those was going to happen. I went home that night and started painting the body. The second part of my beloved painting. I did, however, start painting the body of a man. To this day, I don’t know why, but I am okay with that. Two days later, I miscarried. God had answered Mother’s prayer. As soon as I was well again, I was gone. Emptied my trust fund, bought a one-way ticket to San Diego, took a single duffel bag, and my painting. I didn’t paint anymore until last week. 8 years later. The final inspiration came.

On Sunday, I got a call. The call. Yes, the one from Universal Studios. I got the job as an animator. My heart was so full. It was joy like no other, I was ecstatic. Normally, I would call my boyfriend and share the news, but instead, I just painted. I went to my basement, sat down and painted. I felt so fulfilled like I finally had the catch. The thing I always wanted. And that’s exactly what I painted; hands holding a fish, fresh out of the water. I had gotten my catch. All the years of pink and white dresses, excessive hairspray, of hearing “Lorelai, you must sit like a lady”, of climbing out of the window, of crying myself to sleep because I had no control over my life. I was finally able to fly, to dream, to quite literally, animate. It all felt so rewarding, the running away, the hustle to find my feet here, seeing myself through art school. It had all paid off. I felt genuine joy and so I painted the background. A nice sunset, because it felt that way in me.

I feel like I’m writing an essay as opposed to a diary entry, but I genuinely feel like the fact that I embraced myself, and followed my heart and gave myself the opportunity to be me, without apology is everything. I gave my comfort up because it dared silence the woman I am. Leaving home was the best decision I made. As Shakespeare once wrote, “To be or not to be? That is the question”. That will always be the question, because it’s always a matter of “Do I want to be me, or who the world wants me to be?” or “Do I want to be happy or do I want to make others happy?”, and the very day I realized the only person that mattered in those questions, was me. My own very self. I was the deciding factor in my life. I wasn’t trying to be selfish, I just wanted to be happy. If being happy meant discarding my parents’ plan for my life and making my own plans? Then yes. I took the reins, became the anchor of my own ship, and I have looked nowhere else since. If I feel like it, I’ll tell you about when I got pregnant. For now, I need to sleep, and maybe do some laundry.

With all the love,

Lorelai.