Diane Debevec (she/her) is a visual artist who loves to write. From 2012 through 2019, she served as executive director of Women Writing for(a) Change in Cincinnati, Ohio, where she continues to facilitate classes. Diane and her husband, Jeff Smith, reside in an urban community known as Artful Habitats, where they provide unique apartments to creative city dwellers. Diane and Jeff also share artist space in the nearby Essex Studios.
What past event do you often reflect upon, and how did that event change you?
When I was in my late thirties, I took a three-month sabbatical break from many years of an intense career. I was in search of answers about what I wanted to do with my life. Up until that time, I followed opportunities without a plan. I lacked a vision. I was successful by societal standards, but I was deeply unhappy.
My sabbatical included six weeks of backpacking through Europe, much of it solitary. The time and distance helped me to reflect on my past, as well as the path before me, and I received the gift of clarity. When I returned from Europe, I resigned from my job. I’ve never regretted that decision.
How does your work add to the quality of your life?
I am a person who loves to work and I am person who loves doing nothing. That sounds like a contradiction, but I’ve come to accept this seeming paradox as my true nature.
Having meaningful work propels me forward, engages all of my senses, stimulates my creative problem-solving abilities. Working with others is especially satisfying. Doing nothing, sitting still, slowing myself down to the speed of nature reminds me of my own (relatively insignificant) place in the world. It restores my spirit. A regularly tended cycle of forward motion and rest keeps me balanced.
Tell us a story you would like to share with the world.
My mother and father grew up in the 1920s across the street from each other. My father was from a large family; his parents had immigrated from Slovenia. My mother was the daughter of a school teacher and an electrician who built the house they lived in.
A few years after our parents’ deaths, my sister and I planned a weekend together to sort through the remaining boxes of items that came from their home. The very first item we discovered was a diary my mother kept in her late teenage years. We spent the rest of the weekend reading that diary, filled with our mother’s escapades and occasional glimpses of our dad.
Author photo: Courtesy of author
Side bar image: Pixabay/Edar
