Waking up Thanksgiving morning, the first thing my eye caught hold of was the estranged Disney drawing book on the bottom of my book shelf. The azure blue of its cover was immediately appealing; resulting in me spending the majority of my time thanksgiving weekend learning how to draw memorable Disney characters. I mastered Mickey’s ears and became skilled at Goofy’s hat, but it wasn’t a quick journey. Before I began, I was sure Mickey’s entire face would take one extremely complicated step. I was mistaken. The first part of becoming a Disney artiste is acquiring the skill to draw one large circle right in the center of the page, with two perpendicular lines running through it. I thought this step was a little elementary for my fellow colleagues at the Disney design studio, but I went along with their rudimentary process anyway. Several minutes and several advancements later, and Mickey’s face had never looked happier or more animated. Drawing my favorite childhood character’s face made me realize that most things for me where never done this way. When faced with a challenge, I dive right in, ignoring the circle and lines and going right for the final product.
I’m sure many people who have opened the drawing book did the same thing as I at first, taking one look at the many steps and flipping right to the back page, where the final products are shown. Incidentally, those people’s drawings are the ones that come out with the crooked nose and the uneven hairline, never doing the character justice. Although defects like those are minor fractures to the eye, I take pride in saying that I consciously decided to follow every step, my Mickey was perfection. Surprisingly, I am not proud because my drawing was immaculate, I am proud because I took the time and care to make sure it was. I wish I was able to say this about the other aspects of my life, about my level of patience. There have been so many things I have hastily dived into, so many things I should have done more vigilantly.
Of course, I do not want the same thing in a month, a year, five years. I consider part of myself to still be a child, because I am partly unable to fully grasp what I really want, consumed with the instant gratification every child desires. Romeo, Juliet and Scarlet O’Hara all got their brash wants and look where it got them; hopes and futures that began with so much brilliance and inspiration, only to be squandered by the overly swift choices that were made. I am not a star crossed lover, nor am I a southern belle. I am just a girl, learning how to draw a stupid cartoon character, learning to draw every single, frivolous stroke.