The Year I Stopped Waiting to Feel Ready
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about challenges and how much I’ve been pushing myself this year. Not the “I need to beat everyone else” kind of challenge, although I won’t pretend I’m not competitive. There is definitely a little voice inside me that sees a goal, contest, or opportunity and says, “Oh yeah? Watch this.”
But this year has felt different. The challenge hasn’t been about proving that I’m better than anyone else. It’s been about proving to myself that I’m willing to keep growing, learning, experimenting, and showing up even when I have absolutely no idea how something is going to turn out.
I’ve spent this season learning new art styles, diving deeper into surface pattern design, exploring new techniques, and figuring out new tools. There has been a lot of Procreate, a lot of Illustrator, and yes, a few moments where Illustrator and my computer apparently decided they needed a dramatic moment. Technology really knows how to keep an artist humble.
I’ve also been entering contests, participating in creative challenges, submitting my work, and saying yes to opportunities that would have been really easy to talk myself out of. Because honestly, making the art is one thing. Putting it somewhere other people can see it? That is an entirely different level of bravery.
And maybe that has been the biggest challenge of all.
Learning feels comfortable. Watching tutorials, gathering inspiration, taking notes, and dreaming about all the things you want to create can feel productive, and sometimes it is. But eventually, there comes a moment where you have to stop preparing and start making.
Wild Ridge Studio has been built one collection at a time. One sketch at a time. One “let’s see what happens” moment at a time. From pyrography to digital illustration, from wood pieces to repeating patterns, from artwork that hangs on a wall to designs that can become fabric, wallpaper, and everyday pieces.
Each new step has required me to become a beginner again, and whew, that is humbling.
It’s a weird thing to go from feeling confident in one creative area to suddenly learning something new and feeling like you have no idea what you’re doing. Your imagination can already see the end result, but your skills are still catching up. Your taste says, “make this amazing thing,” and your current ability says, “best I can offer today is a slightly questionable version while we figure this out.”
But then something shifts.
The hours add up. The practice starts showing. The things that once felt complicated become part of your process. The risks don’t feel quite as scary because you’ve proven to yourself that you can figure things out along the way.
And sometimes you enter the challenge. You submit the artwork. You put the idea out into the world.
And sometimes you win.
A few months ago, my organ donation-inspired collection idea was recognized during Liz Kohler Brown’s Summer School challenge, and that one meant a lot. Not just because of the recognition, but because the collection itself is deeply personal. It’s built around second chances, healing, organ donation, and the connections we have with people we may never even meet.
That moment mattered because it reminded me that the quiet work counts. The sketchbook pages nobody sees. The experiments. The messy middle. The hours spent learning something new when it would be easier to stick with what I already know.
I keep reminding myself: patient grasshopper.
Consistency and time.
Here’s the thing: I am doing the things. I’m showing up, creating, learning, and taking action. The growth is happening even when the results haven’t fully caught up yet.
This year’s challenge isn’t about becoming someone else or chasing what everyone else is doing. It’s about becoming more of the artist I already am. And I’m pretty excited to see what she creates next.
