The Day I Almost Went to Art School—and Why I Didn't

Image created with AI by the author.

I was in tenth grade, sitting in the art room—one of the last times I’d be there before the program shut down forever. My school was dropping their Art program. I was devastated and faced with a decision. Two college catalogs sat in my hands.

One from the University of Michigan. One from Pratt School of Design in New York.

Two futures. One safe. One terrifying.

The Weight of Two Worlds

The Pratt catalog excited me in a way I’d never felt before. An entire school devoted to art and design—everything I’d been drawn to my whole life.

But I was terrified and insecure.

Going to Pratt meant moving to New York. It meant expense, risk, and the kind of financial leap my family had never been able to take. My parents left school before the 10th grade. My father worked factory jobs his whole life, picking up odd jobs around the neighborhood. My mother never worked. We never went without, but we never had extra either.

The message I absorbed growing up was clear: you save, you plan, you don’t take chances.

The starving artist wasn’t just a cliché in my world. It was a real warning.

Why I Chose Security Over Creativity

I believed computers would give me security. They were the future—everyone said so.

And unlike art, which felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford, technology felt responsible. Practical. I didn’t know yet what graphic design could become. I couldn’t see that art and technology might one day merge. I just knew that Michigan was closer to home and promised a stable career.

I was completely on my own making this decision. No mentor from school guided me. My family couldn’t advise me on paths they’d never taken themselves. I had no older relatives that had gone to college to talk to, and no high school counseling resources. And now not even an art teacher to consult.

So I chose what felt like survival.

There was a little excitement about Michigan—I knew people who had gone there. But there was also sadness. A quiet grief that I was giving up something I truly wanted, without knowing how else it could work. It wasn’t just about giving up on Pratt, but any dedicated art school.

The Career Path I Never Planned

What I couldn’t have known then was that my choice wouldn’t trap me.

When the Macintosh arrived and Michigan decided to make sure there was at least one computer per student on campus, I got curious. I taught myself the design programs. And as technology evolved—CD-ROM training, web design, the internet—I moved through each wave naturally, following whatever interested me next.

It wasn’t a calculated strategy. I wasn’t thinking ahead to some distant retirement where I’d finally make art. I was just paying attention to what felt alive in the work, and riding that forward.

But over time, even that creative thread began to fray. The work became less about making things and more about managing systems. The hands-on, imaginative part—the part that had drawn me in—slowly disappeared.

What Retirement Made Possible

When I retired, I wasn’t executing some long-held plan.

I was simply finally allowed.

For the first time since that art room in high school, I could follow my imagination wherever it wanted to go—watercolor, charcoal, graphic design, typography, photography. Not because I’d been aiming for this moment my whole life, but because the circumstances that had forced the original choice were finally gone.

No financial stakes. No need to choose security over creativity.

What a Fearful Choice Taught Me About Belief Systems

Looking back, I don’t regret choosing Michigan. I gained access to what would become a driving force in design and technology. I chose to learn all that I could because it was fun, creative and exciting. My curiosity about what I could do with the new tools was limitless. That choice gave me stability, and stability eventually gave me freedom.

But I’ve learned something about how we move through life: planning matters. Security matters. But without curiosity—without paying attention to what actually engages you, what makes you feel alive—a plan can become a very uninteresting path forward.

I didn’t orchestrate my life toward art. I just stayed curious enough to follow the next interesting thing, and patient enough to wait until the circumstances allowed me to finally say yes to what had always been calling.

Now I get to explore creatively, without the weight of financial survival attached to every pen stroke.

And that changes everything.

What belief have you been living by that wasn’t really yours to begin with?