What I learned from failing at Etsy

When I was little, and art didn’t have to be anything but our collective sacred birthright, I drew obsessively.

I didn’t yet know about capitalism and how one day if you can’t make a lot of money at something, the world will tell you that it’s just not worth doing.

When I was a little boy, I drew and painted because it felt good. I saw the magic of the world and wanted to recreate it on the page.

I loved the way pastels marked my clothing, how pencil shavings dotted the ground surrounding my feet, and how acrylic paints worked themselves into the grooves on my finger-pads, marking me as someone who created things instead of destroying them.

Like most children, I had a fascination with dinosaurs and birds, and creatures of all kinds. I liked best the beings that could roam the world freely, that could explore vast lands, and see marvels from great heights.

I spent my days sketching pterodactyls and white-breasted nuthatches and barbary lions in the back of countless math classes and homerooms.

I would even draw at recess. While the other kids played, I would find my spot on the hill, nestled into the muddy grass, and sketch in the margins of whatever novel I’d brought with me on that particular day.