Rachel J. Marko

Growing up, the accolades on my art were constant — until college, when I realized how much bigger the world was than the bubble I’d known. Creating had always come easily to me, and I assumed I’d do it forever.

Anxiety kept me close to home for school, where I found amazing friends, teachers, and my husband — no regrets there. What I do regret is not pushing past my comfort zone. I’d planned to move to the city after graduating. Then 9/11 happened, and it took years before I could make that 40-minute trip again. I lost a year of college fearing the very place that might have given me the creative life I wanted.

I’m part of that in-between generation that grew up analog and had to pivot to digital in my twenties. I rejected Photoshop hard — how was that art if I wasn’t using my hands?

For 25 years, I told myself that missing the graphic-arts tech wave in college ruined my shot at being a working artist. Instead, I got a steady paycheck, which let my husband and I live comfortably. But I still wonder: was trading a creative career for money — money that was never even that good — worth it?

I spent 18 years in a job that did me no favors, mostly because I didn’t believe I could do anything else. Being put down daily will do that. The only time I felt good was when I sneaked creativity into my work, always outside my job description, just to stay sane. Those years flew by, and it was hard to see from the inside how much time I was losing.

I left in 2021 for a work-from-home job — better pay, still not creative, but it gave me space to heal and recognize my own worth.

Through it all, freelance work and selling my art kept me sane. I made money — car-payment money, not mortgage money — which convinced me full-time creative work wasn’t sustainable. So I kept going through the motions.

This past year I got my real estate license. I’m glad I did, but it won’t scratch the itch. A few recent painting jobs did. I’m still a little mad I didn’t take this path sooner, but I try to remember how many women find their real calling in midlife.

Right now it feels like a new beginning. I’m not dwelling on lost time — just thinking about what’s next. I’m endlessly grateful to my husband for holding things down while I figure this out, and I know I don’t have unlimited time to get this off the ground, but I’m grateful for the chance.

Going forward, I’m saying yes to any creative project and learning everything I can. I used to box myself in as a “printmaker,” “pen-and-ink artist,” “jewelry maker,” or “muralist” — now I know I can do it all. I’ve also envied artists with one signature style; nobody looks at my work and says “that’s a Rachel.” But that’s okay — it means I can adapt to what clients need instead of turning down work that doesn’t fit a mold. And when something’s truly outside my wheelhouse, I know enough people now to point clients elsewhere.

Thanks for reading. Here’s hoping I figure this out before another desk job pulls me back under.