The air that flows through me is more whole since I’ve started my journey in this practice. I’m beginning to lose track of time, and am merely falling in love the process.

This was one of my first landscape paintings. It’s great to see the progression of my techniques, but this still remains my favorite painting, for I felt for the first time the rhythm in my hands and body as each stroke of paint was displayed on the...

This was one of my first landscape paintings. It’s great to see the progression of my techniques, but this still remains my favorite painting, for I felt for the first time the rhythm in my hands and body as each stroke of paint was displayed on the canvas. The flow took over me.

How do I convey into language the events that partook this day in a virtual text box? I really don’t think I can. Maybe one day I will try. For now, I want to remember how it felt before I rappelled down this beautiful 250’ climb.

I never asked to be a woman who is truly ever inspired to write when in grief, but I am. I’ve half-heartedly accepted it. In a way, it’s a huge part of my identity. As years gone by, I’ve learned to grow with my identity instead of changing it. I want to always grow, for I am just an egg who aspires to grok as much of the world as possible.