In the late 1990s, a family visited the school where I taught deaf students. They said they would be moving here and planned to send their deaf daughter to my school as a first grader. They were upset that their child’s kindergarten teacher told them not to have high hopes for her academically. Based upon assessment results, the teacher painted a bleak picture for their little girl’s future. Standing behind them was Katherine, a beautiful five-year-old with long hair and dark eyes. The whole time her parents were there, and she didn’t make a sound or use sign language, even when her parents prompted her.

After a few weeks with Katherine, I discovered I was dealing with a very bright, very strong-willed child. Although I was able to engage her in a variety of learning activities, writing was a constant struggle. I tried all kinds of trickery to interest her in writing. Every time the pencils came out, she would shut down and refuse to write.

One day Katherine got off her bus and stood in front of the school wailing. The staff members present did not know enough sign language to ask her why she was crying. Finally they quickly took her into the office where they handed her a pen and a notepad. Katherine wrote: “PAC BAK.”. Immediately the office staff realized she left her backpack on the bus. They summoned (召唤) the bus back to school and soon Katherine was reunited with her backpack.

That day Katherine discovered the power of the pen. From then on she had a new appreciation for writing. She is a young woman now and has become an excellent writer, public speaker and student leader. In the summer of 2008 I traveled to the National Association of the Deaf Conference in New Orleans and watched her perform competitively as Miss Deaf Colorado. Kathy keeps in touch and I especially treasure her e-mails with term papers attached. This young lady wields a very powerful pen!

Anxiety has followed me around like a lost dog looking for a bone for years now. I feel it the most strongly when I’m worried about my health or my daughter’s health. I feel an unusual sensation and all of a sudden: panic! My worries are not limited to health concerns though, and they go in the direction of anxiety about the future of the world, worries about my finances, and fears that I’m not good enough.

Let me go back a few decades, back to when anxiety wasn’t part of my life. When I was a child, I loved art. I drew and I colored because that’s what I enjoyed. I went to college to become an art teacher. When I finished school in May of 2001, I had a part-time design job, and after the event of September 11th, 2001, I knew I needed to travel, to get out of the safe life I was living in my hometown. That’s when my creative practices fell by the wayside.

Luckily, after the birth of my daughter in 2014, the desire to create came back. At first, I was using a tiny corner of a bedroom in our rental house to paint. Eventually we bought a house, and I had the space to spread out, ready to paint whenever the urge struck. That’s when I started noticing something important: Painting stilled me in a way that nothing else did. It eased my fears and anxieties in a way other practice (deep breathing, etc) did not, at least not as consistently. When anxious thoughts start, I know what to do. I head into my studio, grab some materials, and start creating. Soon enough, the worries are gone and instead my mind is quiet.

I think the reason why painting is so helpful for my anxiety is that, in order for me to be anxious, I have to be worrying about the future and what it holds. When I’m doing an activity that requires my full concentration, I have to be in the moment. It doesn’t matter if you’re artistic. The only thing that matters is finding a way to be here, in the now, instead of in the unknowable future.