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I never narrowed down my interests to fit a career or pursue one passion. I want it all.
The first time I tried to design business cards, I experienced a moment of surrender and salvation caused by an inability to summarize my intentions and gifts in a job title.
Sitting at my laptop, in a crowded Starbucks, I searched my internal thesaurus for applicable language that might help me explain my existence.
I longed for a label that would fuse all of my magic and help me define my life’s work.
I wanted people to understand me.
Therein lies the problem.
Being an artist is a form of freedom that’s indescribable. The art itself is the explanation. The bliss I feel when drafting poetry from dust is divine.
When I write, adjectives dance together and sentences ribbon and wave until every thought aligns and stands still- ready to be published. A storm of ideas hovers, available and willing to linger until I’m done. I spend my days drafting stories that heal me.
Writing is all I want to do.
But, all artists have to eat. Being a starving artist is only glamorous and advantageous in sitcoms. The rest of us have to work. Those of us who choose to nurture creativity, typically have to find a way to keep the lights on in…
