The right ruler can never draw a crooked line.
a night at Sermet’s Courtyard, and a lesson in staying true to yourself
Nearly fifteen years ago, my husband Trevor was given a painting by a friend in Charleston, South Carolina. It’s called Mobster: Alfredo Parmigiano. A portrait of an old Italian mobster with a cigar hanging out of his mouth.
When we moved into our first apartment together, the painting came too. I loved it. We both did. Today, it has become a staple in our home. A talking point. A story we tell to every new guest who walks through our door.
One day, after sharing a photo of the portrait on Instagram, I got a message from a woman who’d been following me there.
It said:
Oh my gosh, that’s my dad’s painting!
And so it was! Her father, Sermet, is the artist.
Since then, Sermet’s daughter and I have kept in touch. Sermet owns a restaurant called Sermet’s Courtyard on Daniel Island in Charleston. And Trevor and I have always said: when we finally make it to Charleston together, we’re going to Sermet’s and thank him in person.
This weekend, we finally did. And it was even more magical than I could have expected.
As soon as we were seated, Sermet came over to our table to greet us (his daughter let him know ahead of time we were coming). I stood up and immediately started to cry, which honestly surprised me! At that moment, all of this gratitude began to bubble up inside of me.
I felt grateful that he’d chosen to create. That he’d pushed through whatever doubt or resistance we as artists and creators and writers always feel, and decided to paint that day. That he’d put his work out into the world.
I told him: Thank you so much for painting. I stare at Alfredo every morning. He brings me so much joy.
He gave me a big hug, and said, “He’s a funny guy isn’t he?”
Throughout the evening he stopped by our table to chat with us some more. We spoke about meditation, the ego, and suffering (just some light and casual dinner conversation!!) I asked what time of day he likes to paint, and he said: at night. When the world is quiet and no one needs anything; when the mind is less agitated.
As we said goodbye, he told me: Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. You’re doing something right…. The right ruler can never draw a crooked line.
“Thank you,” I said. “I really needed to hear that.”
I left that night thinking about how often I judge my writing, my content, and my work through the lens of how others might see it. I measure my own lines against their rulers. More often than not, I come away disappointed. How damaging that can be. How stifling. To chase a standard that was never mine to begin with.
In the end, Sermet gave me more than Alfredo. He reminded me that what’s true can never be crooked, and the only ruler ever worth using is my own.
Life is so cool
What a boss