05/21/2026
I think I lost the plot for a bit.
We do a lot out of desperation, don’t we? Abandon ourselves to become palatable.
Try to conform ourselves to fit every puzzle.
Carrying around our gifts in one arm and a flimsy folding chair in the other so we can push for a seat at any table, jumping along to the next one if that last one couldn’t hold space for what you so desperately want to bring to it.
But soon, all the tables are full. And you’re standing there alone with your arms so full of all you have to give. And the weight of that chair you’ve been carrying around from table to table suddenly starts to feel very heavy. Too heavy for an object that was never meant to have a spot of permanence in the first place.
I’m setting the chair down.
I’m abandoning it altogether. I’m setting out a blanket instead, and I’m lying down on it, and I’m staring up at the sky remembering what it all felt like before I thought I had to try so hard. What the pictures felt like. What the moments felt like. The art I created before I thought I had to do things a certain way to make a living from this.
The thing about that art though, that deep heart-centered emotion driven art, it’s not for everybody. Not everyone will understand it. Not everyone will feel it. But that’s ok. I don’t have to shrink my work for the mere opportunity to be accepted. I have permission to build it exactly the way I want. The way my gut has been screaming at me to build it for nearly 2 decades now. The way my heart has been begging me for.
And if you want that kind of art for yourself, there’s room on the blanket for you. We’re catching sun rays and childlike wonder. We’re breathing in the nostalgia like it’s oxygen and releasing it back out as our legacy.
We’re finding the plot again. And it’s going to be so beautiful for anyone else who sees the world this way too.
