I can see things I want, the things that I believe I am being called into. 

These are things and activities and movements that I love, that flow out of me as naturally as my breath. 

And yet I fear moving towards and into them. 

My self-talk can be ridiculous: I “know” so much about the creative process, and about creative/vocational courage, and yet…

I THOUGHT I WOULD BE BEYOND THE VOICES THAT SEEK TO SILENCE ME AND PUSH ME INTO A CORNER. 

It’s a reminder, isn’t it, that I am simply one of everyone else. We all suffer through this crap. We all have to push through the same barriers, and wrestle with the same demons, in order to find our true selves, our vocations, our callings, our “homes” in this world. 

So I sit down, and I face the darkness, and I name the voices, and I open a new document or pull out a piece of paper and pen (because, yes, I remain bent towards analogue), and as I type or write or draw, I TRUST

TRUST

TRUST 

TRUST

TRUST

TRUST

trust that every letter and scribble puts a dent in the darkness.