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      F or me, and many other creative creatures on this planet, there is a constant longing for sharing my truth. It’s a feeling filled with both narcissism and generosity, the kind that chips away pieces of my soul if I don’t consistently share my creativity with the world. It’s inspiring, frightening and highly inconvenient. Because of this feeling, I always thought I’d do something great with my life. Something important that truly mattered, but the older I get the more unsure I become. Maybe being alive in itself is as big, creative and important as it possibly gets? Maybe this is it? Though, somewhere deep in my gut, a voice is screaming that there is more to life than this. Maybe today, tomorrow, or at least soon, life is really supposed to begin. In my constant search for meaning between and during my creative endeavors, I've filled dozens of journals with thoughts, questions, hopes, dreams and countless drafts of ideas that will never reach completion.             

Latest Posts

8/8/2020

Summer Wishing

Can I kiss you before you leave?

Malmö

Make Yourself at Home

What Kind of Art Do You Like Lin?

An Inbox Full of Rejections

2/24/19

Fatty Porridge