learning that plans are important to get the ship out of port, but being a good sailor is knowing how to navigate storms and surges

learning that experience is not measured in the number of successes, but the hours spent resolving failures

learning how to keep my head down, voice soft, and put in the work

learning that people are different and see the world differently on a fundamental level

learning that satisfaction and happiness are self-defined and amorphous

learning the joy in doing a little better every week rather than only landing big wins

learning that seeking constant crests is folly, and being comfortable during the troughs is the other half

we read these things in art and literature

and then we learn them

again and again

until we really do


[To a future version of myself, I want to remind you 
how this feels right now.]

I have never been so distant from
myself before.

The heart is a sensitive thing. Often said that empathy is a strength but,
it hurts to feel everything
at a point in time where I'm still figuring out myself.
     Anger, Fear, Sadness, Uncertainty, Divsion
     There Are Negative Energies In The Air.

Unity is in the middle ground, but it's not been found
In residence at the the white house is a
president without precedence.

Here we are caught between the past and the future
Living through the Now.

Why do we surrender the inner state of our psyche to the external?
I don't have the answers but I have a lot of questions
right now.
     Should We Be Rocks, Sponges, or Mirrors?

find it

in between rays of light through wistful cotton

within blood rushing through veins

next to rivers lapping over stubborn stones

among dimly lit rooms with bright eyes and colorful drawings on the walls

along silhouettes of branches against navy skies

from the pin pricks of light piercing through the black fabric which holds us

through the rise and fall of breath

through the metronome that is the ticking heart

through thoughts deep as the ocean yet ephemeral as smoke

find it

the power of stories

we are born

and get a name for our story

but we don’t yet know how to put ink to paper

so we cry


shared stories

ground reality(s)


with yarns of memories and wishes

we weave checkered quilts

of ourselves and everything around us


what will you leave behind

on the pages?