My Life as a Dog Artist
Every dog owner has a story, a nail-biting thriller or legend, of how cosmic events tumbled into place and the greatest dog in the world came to be theirs. What would a mathematician or statistician say about the prevalence of such one-in-a-million odds? The truth is that dogs remind us every day that long shots are only abstractions, and that if we let the universe do its job, it gets it right. It gets it perfect.
I didn’t always believe this. I used to think I was in charge of my destiny. In the early 90s I moved to Hollywood determined to break into the film business. I was cocky and I was lucky—a potent mix. Through a family friend, I landed a job as Kevin Costner’s assistant. I traveled the world working on movie sets. I went to the Oscars. I was on the right track.
Then I became a screenwriter and, strangely, a dog owner (since I was never a dog person and became one by bonding with a puppy I was supposed to give to someone else). Happily, I spent hours at the computer with my beloved longhaired dachshund as my muse. I got an agent. I got jobs. One day I planned, as all writers do, to direct my own screenplay. Then I got sick.
In 2000, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. I became bedridden, depressed and terrified. Unable to think and barely able to function, I lost everything that defined me—my job, my personality, my fearless nature, and my dreams.
After years of doctors’ visits, I found a way to manage the disease (Guaifenesin has vastly improved my symptoms) and I began to look for purpose in my life. I still could hardly string two words together, but I could cut and paste. Christmas was coming so I decided to make collages for my family for gifts. I found the most inspiration in all our dogs and my company DreamDogsArt was born.
I never thought I would become an artist. But then, I never thought I would file for disability, or take prescription painkillers, or say no to many of the things I used to love. I am not going to contend that this nightmare disease has made my life better. Living is pain is a constant battle. But I will say that things were the worst when I was in the deepest denial, when I lied to people about my health, when I pushed myself and thought I could will my way out of my diagnosis.
Only when I was honest with myself, and risked being honest with others did things start to change and slowly improve. This meant giving up old dreams. But it also made room for new ones. Letting go of who I thought I’d be is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But resisting reality nearly destroyed me.
Today, maybe I’m not the cocky go-getter I once was, but now I’m in awe of the universe and the magic it has in store for us in a new and profound way. And that IS better. Thinking I was in charge was exhausting; finding out I’m not made room for my dog, my art, and my life. I’m so thankful I learned to let go.
To learn more about Moira and her artwork, go to http://dreamdogsart.com/
