The Other Plan

“Lord, you have got to be kidding,” I said. “I’m a lawyer, not an artist!”

- Phnesha Marchette

I LIKED STRUCTURE, THINGS GOING according to plan—my plans. But lately there had been so much upheaval that I hardly recognized my life, or myself, anymore. I was going through a divorce. My dad had a terminal illness. I couldn’t focus on my job as a labor and employment lawyer, and hard work was something I prided myself on. (Even in law school I’d worked a side job as a cheerleader in the NBA and NFL.) I put on a smile for my daughters—Gabby, four, and Gigi, two—but I cried in the shower. I woke up in the middle of the night, every night, my mind racing. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this miserable.

When I refused to take sleeping pills—I didn’t want to be out of it if my girls needed me—my doctor ordered me to take a leave of absence from my job. Part of me was relieved to have a break. Another part of me was freaking out. What was I going to do without having a schedule to stick to? How would I fill the hours Gabby and Gigi were at day care?

What I ended up doing was going for walks on the beach. Something I’d been too busy to do before, even though we lived in a townhouse just a few blocks away. As I strolled along the water’s edge, gazing at the cool blue expanse of sky and sea, the chaos inside me seemed to subside. And in the quiet, I talked to God, asking him to help me find peace and joy again.

One morning i took off my shoes and plopped down on the beach. I wiggled my toes in the sand and breathed in the salty air.

You should paint.