Everything Else Feels Like Noise

Because there's a man who lived in a barn and painted for 40 years, and I finally understand what he knew: devotion beats balance. Every time.

The Life I Can’t Stop Imagining

There’s a moment in the Thomas Kinkade movie I haven’t stopped thinking about.

Not the galleries. Not the “Painter of Light” success story.

But an older man who lived in a converted barn on the back side of the Kinkade family’s childhood property.

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He was an artist.

After his beautiful wife passed away, he chose to live his devotion to her memory in solitude.

The result was 40 years of magnificent art.

Art that likely would have never come about had he chosen to live “normal” and heed the advice of well-meaning friends and family.

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He secured an agent and proceeded to build a life alone in that barn.

Concrete floors were poured. Partitions were built to set aside sleeping quarters, a kitchen, a living space. Very sparse. Very minimalist.

He didn’t host salons. He didn’t attend gallery openings. He didn’t run a community.

He created. In his own life and on the canvas.

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And all around him—art. Paintings stacked. Easels ready. Light pouring in.

That man lived there until his 90s. Creating beauty. Selling his work. Content.

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I can’t stop thinking about him.

Not because I want his exact life—but because I recognize the frequency he lived in.

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He didn’t split his energy at all. With singular focus, he lived an extraordinary life. Nothing could dilute his focus to make it more palatable or digestible. He wouldn’t have it. That would take away his passion and his memories of his beloved wife.

To soothe his being, he followed the exact instructions his soul gave him.

And the proof of that alignment? His work. His longevity. His joy.

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I think about what it must have taken to choose that life.

To not explain. To not justify. To not need anyone else to clap.

To wake up and paint because it’s the only thing that makes sense.

No politics. No church groups. No self-improvement agendas.

Just him and the canvas and the quiet conversation between the two.

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There’s a part of me that aches for that kind of clarity.

Not because I’m lost.

But because I’m close.

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Because something in me is already turning toward that kind of focus.

Last spring, I filled 17 boxes with stuff I had around my home that no longer reflected who I am.

Now, I’m going to do the same thing—but this time with surgical precision.

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In my studio are oodles and oodles of things. We artists have a way of collecting things that “could be used to create with—you know, in the future.”

I also have oodles and oodles of drawings, etchings, prints that will be boxed with care and placed in storage.

I haven’t looked at any of these things in 4½ years. I doubt I will in the future.

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I have about 100 paintbrushes of varying sizes.

Most will be tossed.

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This one action will free physical space—but most importantly, the mental and emotional space in the very studio where I do my work.

That kind of simplicity. That kind of devotion.

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Everything else feels like noise.

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Let me be clear:

I’m not talking about isolation. I’m not advocating for cutting everyone off and hiding in a barn for 40 years.

I’m talking about devotion.

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There’s a difference.

Isolation is running FROM connection out of fear or pain.

Devotion is running TOWARD what your soul is calling you to—and letting everything else become optional.

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The barn artist didn’t avoid people because he hated them. He chose his work because he loved it more than he loved performing for them.

He didn’t need their approval. He didn’t need their understanding. He needed his canvas and his light and his quiet.

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That’s what I’m moving toward.

Not loneliness. Not withdrawal.

But a life so focused on what matters that I stop bleeding energy into what doesn’t.

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And here’s what I’m making space FOR:

Mornings in the studio without guilt. Paintings that take three months instead of three days because I’m not rushing to prove anything. Essays that come from soul, not strategy. A rhythm that feels MINE, not borrowed from someone else’s vision of productivity.

I’m not clearing out to be empty. I’m clearing out to be FULL—of the one thing my soul keeps whispering: Paint. Write. Breathe. Repeat.

Do you even know what your soul is whispering anymore? Or has the noise been too loud for too long?

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Here’s what I’ve learned: The noise doesn’t just drown out your soul. It makes you stop trusting it.

So even when you DO hear the whisper—paint this, write that, leave this, start that—you second-guess it. You ask for opinions. You wait for certainty.

The barn artist didn’t do that.

He heard “paint” and he painted. For 40 years. Because he trusted the whisper more than he trusted the noise.

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That’s what “Building Trust With Yourself” teaches.

Not how to hear your soul—you already know how to do that.

But how to trust it enough to follow it.

Even when it whispers something the world won’t understand. Even when it asks you to clear out 100 paintbrushes and live in a metaphorical barn.

Even when it scares you.

👉 Get “Building Trust With Yourself” here

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So if you’re reading this and thinking, “I can’t do that. I have grandkids. I have responsibilities. I can’t just disappear”—

I hear you. And I’m not asking you to.

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I’m just asking:

What would happen if you stopped trying to balance everything and started devoting yourself to the ONE thing your soul won’t stop whispering about?

Not abandoning your people. Not disappearing.

Just clearing the noise. Keeping what serves. And finally, FINALLY giving your soul the space it’s been asking for.

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Because that’s not isolation.

That’s coming home.

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And I wonder: How many of us would be living differently if we stopped trying to “balance it all” and just let the soul take the lead—even if it led us to a quiet barn, a concrete floor, and a life so rich we never wanted to leave?

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xo,
Monica

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Heart it if you’re craving that kind of clarity. Comment with ONE thing you’re ready to clear out to make space for your soul’s work.

P.S. Tomorrow is the final day to join The Daily RE-WIRE at 30% off. If you’ve been feeling the pull toward this kind of focus—toward clearing the noise and devoting yourself to what your soul keeps whispering—this is your last chance to join at this price.

What you get:

• Daily essays like this one

• Monthly soul-based guides (including “Building Trust With Yourself”)

• Live breathwork and reflection sessions

• A community of women choosing devotion over balance

👉 Join at 30% off—offer ends tomorrow

After tomorrow, the price returns to $90/year.

If you’ve been waiting for a sign—the barn artist, the cleared studio, the soul you can barely hear anymore—this is it.