Why I Almost Didn't Choose Art

By Carla Galván | Studio Carla Galván

For the longest time, I never considered becoming an artist.

Not because I didn't love art. Quite the opposite, actually.

I loved it so much that I was afraid of turning it into a career.

Painting was always my little escape from the world. A place where time didn't exist, where I could disappear into my thoughts, emotions, and imagination. There was something almost magical about creating something from nothing. Something that belonged entirely to me.

And I was terrified of losing that feeling.

I thought that if I ever depended on art to make a living, it would eventually become just another responsibility. Another way of making money. Another job.

I was afraid that something so personal, so emotional, and so meaningful would slowly become ordinary.

So I made a decision.

I would pursue a career in medicine, something stable, respectable, and financially secure, and keep art as my little escape.

At least, that was the plan.

The Life I Thought I Was Supposed to Live

For most of my life, I had a very specific idea of what success looked like.

Go to school. Get good grades. Graduate. Find a good job. Work your way up. Build a comfortable life.

Simple, right?

It was the life I had been taught to want. The path everyone around me seemed to be following.

And for years, I followed it without questioning whether it was actually what I wanted.

I wasn't necessarily unhappy. I just wasn't asking myself the right questions.

Until someone very special came into my life and completely changed the way I looked at things.

My boyfriend.

He made me question things I had never really stopped to think about.

Why was I choosing this career? Was it because I genuinely wanted it, or because it was what I was supposed to do?

What would my life look like if I stopped making decisions based on what felt safe?

And perhaps the most important question:

What would actually make me happy?

Maybe I Was Meant for Something Different

The more I reflected, the more I realized how much of myself I had been putting aside.

I have always been a creative person. A dreamer. Someone who feels things deeply, who finds inspiration in the smallest details, who constantly has a million ideas running through her mind.

And suddenly, I couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life sitting in a doctor's office, following a routine that didn't allow that part of me to exist fully.

Not because there is anything wrong with that life.

It just wasn't mine.

I wanted to create. I wanted to explore. I wanted to experience life in a way that felt exciting, unpredictable, and meaningful.

I felt like I had so much more to share with the world.

Call it delusion.

But I think a little delusion is necessary sometimes.

Actually, call me crazy. I love being crazy.

Sometimes you have to be a little crazy to believe in a life that doesn't exist yet.

The Fear of Choosing Art

Let's be realistic for a second.

Being an artist isn't exactly the career people encourage you to pursue.

It's competitive. It's unpredictable. There is no guaranteed paycheck, no clear path to success, and certainly no promise that the world will appreciate what you create.

We've all heard the expression starving artist.

And for a long time, I allowed that narrative to influence how I saw my future.

But then I started questioning something else.

Why do we automatically assume that doing what we love means struggling?

Why are we so comfortable dedicating our entire lives to something that makes us money, but so hesitant to believe that our passions could do the same?

Of course, passion alone doesn't guarantee success.

You still need discipline, consistency, patience, and a willingness to figure things out along the way.

But I started believing that if I was going to dedicate most of my life to working toward something, I wanted that something to mean something to me.

I would rather spend years building a life I genuinely love than spend those same years wondering what could have happened if I had tried.

And Here I Am

Now, my days look completely different from the future I once imagined.

I'm surrounded by paintings, unfinished canvases, paintbrushes, ideas scribbled in random places, and projects that sometimes exist only in my imagination.

Some days I'm adding the smallest details to a painting.

Other days I'm starting something completely new, not knowing exactly where it will take me.

Sometimes I spend hours staring at a piece, trying to figure out what's missing.

And sometimes an idea comes to me out of nowhere, and I can't wait to bring it to life.

It's not always easy.

There is uncertainty. There is pressure. There are moments when I question myself.

But there's also something I didn't expect to feel so strongly.

Freedom.

The freedom to create something that didn't exist yesterday.

The freedom to follow an idea simply because it excites me.

The freedom to build a life around something that makes me feel alive.

And the funny thing is, the feeling I was so afraid of losing?

That magical feeling painting has always given me?

It's still here.

If anything, I feel it more than ever.

I used to think that protecting my love for art meant keeping it separate from my career.

Now I'm beginning to understand that maybe I don't have to separate the two.

Maybe I can love something deeply and still build a life from it.

Maybe my passion doesn't have to remain just an escape from the world.

Maybe it can become the world I choose to live in.

And I have no idea where this journey will take me.

But for the first time, I'm genuinely excited to find out.

With love,
Carla ♡