The class was called drawing and painting and when I signed up I imagined something like my high school art class: sketching, pastels, charcoal, pencils, oil paint. The scent of linseed oil and turpentine. But the materials list said watercolors. I cringed. Not what I had expected.

And so it began, yet another life lesson in letting go of expectations.

In the first session we drew our shoes, creased and kicked jauntily up against each other, spotlights brightening their dusty soles. I drew in lines, so many lines. I drew quickly. My hands started falling into the rhythm — there was just a little bit of body memory left, just enough to get me through the class.

The next week, the watercolors knocked me right down. They were completely different. They worked in mysterious ways. They resisted lines, and settled into shapes. The paint bled on the paper. I had to wait for areas to dry before I could rework them. I held tightly to what I knew before of painting. It was an exercise in frustration.

Then, yesterday, the teacher gave us a choice as we gazed out at the model. She had posed in a strong stance with her hands crossed behind her. It was to be a twenty-five minute pose and I was anxious, resistant. I wanted to make lines curves. I resisted the medium and it fought right back. But the teacher’s choice was: to draw the model on the paper in pencil first, then paint it, or skip the pencil rendering altogether.

I knew immediately that I’d want to draw first. I waited half a beat and decided to do just the opposite. The class was small and chatty and the teacher knew I was having trouble. I told her my choice. I told her that because I wanted to draw first, I wouldn’t.

“That’s exactly how I’m trying to live my life,” said the model, a blue-eyed woman who serves coffee at the local café and talks about working on airplanes the way a teenage boy might talk about working on his first car. “When I have the impulse to do something a certain way, I do it differently.” She beamed a broad smile and resumed her pose.

We all agreed it was a good way to live. Differently, deliberately. And with water and pigment I began to make a shape on the paper.