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“You can’t expect to learn to paint in one evening,” the teacher breezed over to me. She looked at what I had done and wrinkled her nose. “Then again, there are those who can never learn.”
“I take it I’m in the never category?” I huffed.
She didn’t bother to answer.
I tried to pretty up the mess I had made on my canvas but it was hopeless. Completely and utterly hopeless. It was obvious I didn’t have an artsy bone in my body. At least, when it came to painting and drawing…I could write pretty well. But then again, it was impossible to judge yourself.
I was tempted to say, ‘Screw it, let’s get out of here,’ but I knew that wouldn’t fly with Trace.
Plus, he was completely engrossed in talking with the old man beside him. Apparently, the man had served in one of the wars and was telling a curious Trace all about it.
I cleaned my paintbrushes off and then placed the canvas on a drying rack.
“You done?” Trace asked when I sat back down on the stool.
“Yeah,” I sighed grumpily. “I’m never going anywhere near a paintbrush again. I’m an insult to artists everywhere.”
Trace chuckled. “That’s not true and this is only a beginner’s class. I think you’re supposed to suck.”
I frowned.
“Olivia,” Trace swiveled in his stool to face me and leaned down to my level. “You don’t have to be perfect. It’s okay to suck at things.”
His words were like a stab straight to my heart, even though he hadn’t meant them that way.
He was right. I didn’t have to be perfect. But when you’ve been striving for perfection, all your life, it’s hard to let it go.
“Hey,” Trace whispered, lifting my chin up. “Don’t be sad. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything.”
“I know,” I mumbled. “And you’re right. I don’t have to be perfect but with my dad…”
“You’ve always tried to be,” he added. “It’s okay to mess up though, Olivia. I thought you wanted to live? You can’t live if you don’t mess up. Life’s all about mistakes, and sometimes, those things you think are mistakes, turn out to be the thing you were searching for.”
I nodded at his words. They made sense.
“Life isn’t about perfection,” he added, “perfection doesn’t exist.”
“I know,” I replied, playing with the ends of my hair.
“Do you?” He questioned, his green eyes studying me. “Because I’m not sure you do.”
???
I kept turning Trace’s words over in my mind.
I knew that perfection didn’t exist, but since my dad had always expected it, I strived for it.
My list was supposed to be my chance to make mistakes, so why was I holding myself back?
I wanted to mess things up, and live a little, but when you had worked so hard to be perfect, for so long, it was hard to let that go.
But I was going to, because if I didn’t, I would never find the real Olivia Owens.
We were back in the car but we hadn’t pulled away from the building.
“You may not be the next Picasso,” Trace grinned, causing me to smile in response, “but you tried, and that’s what really matters.”
He pulled a pen and piece of paper out of his pocket.
