🖌️ ARTICLE 2: "Brushstrokes & Blueprints: Lessons from the Cold"

 



Subtitle: How becoming a painter taught me patience, process, and how to master my mind.

“Do you see a man skilled in his work? He will stand before kings; he will not stand before obscure men.” — Proverbs 22:29


It's Going To Suck

When I first picked up a paint roller in Michigan, I had no idea what I was doing.

I wasn’t some trained apprentice. I didn’t grow up painting fences with my granddad. I wasn’t artistic. But Mike’s dad threw me on the crew, and I knew better than to complain.

I sucked at first.

I mean bad. Paint dripping. Edges sloppy. Tape crooked. But I didn’t care. Because what I lacked in skill, I made up for in obsession.


Work That Doesn’t End

This wasn’t residential. We weren’t painting little houses and apartments.

We were doing massive commercial contracts. Military bases. Hospitals. Stadiums. Schools. We’re talking jobs that spanned 6 months to 2 years. I was driving an hour each way through snowstorms to be part of these operations.

And I wasn’t just there—I was managing teams. Some of the crew didn’t even speak English. I had to communicate through gestures, energy, repetition, and example.

I started reading blueprints. Coordinating logistics. Mapping phases of projects. Speaking with superintendents and higher-ups about timelines and standards.

And I was making $15 an hour.

Let that sink in.


A Broke Man with High Standards

Something about the work flipped a switch in me.

I didn’t care about the money anymore. I started caring about craftsmanship. I’d look at a finished wall and see the tiniest flaw and make someone redo it. Or redo it myself. Because I couldn’t allow sloppy work to be tied to my name.

Even if nobody saw it, I knew. That was enough.

That discipline, that attention to detail—that was new for me. The streets didn’t teach me patience. Prison didn’t teach me pride in work. This cold, this camper, this company full of strangers—they taught me.


From Labor to Leverage

Eventually, I realized something powerful:
I could transfer this obsession with quality into anything.
If I could learn this trade, in a town that felt like exile, on the back of a criminal record, then what else could I master?

Painting taught me to:

  • Love the long game.

  • Work when nobody's watching.

  • Lead without speaking the same language.

  • Raise my standards before I raised my price.


One Step Closer

I still hated working for someone else. That fire never left. But I knew now that I was becoming the type of man who could build for himself.

The cold season had done its job.



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