To see this huge Okanagon forest go from green to black was eerily serene. We got out of the car at one point to take it all in, and the silence was haunting. The forest becomes infinitely more quiet without any leaves to rustle in the breeze. The mist was thick like paint, engulfing the top of the remaining trunks, blurring the horizon between the treetops and the sky, beckoning them to come to their next life. They refused.
I snapped this photo and left it unedited, to remember how beautiful and strong they still are despite surviving such destruction. I thanked them for being candid with me. They reminded me that people are not so different from the landscapes that surround us. Gracefully proud, strong, and resilient, I think we can all strive to more like the trees.
Today I wrote something beautiful. I was filled with inspiration, and the perfect words flowed from my fingertips, like honey on a sunny day. My heart did not pound with existential dread, wondering when I would be struck with a creative spark. I did not pace or fidget. I did not curl up into a blanket and question if my writing was worth anything at all. I did not feel my temples pulsate with angst or yearning. I did not feel the quiver of my breath while sighing in defeat, oh no.
“The true alchemists do not change lead into gold; they change the world into words.” – William H. Gass
My first book is a collection of poetry, illustrations, paintings, and blurbs relating to a journey through trauma, addiction, and recovery. The ideas in these poems are not exclusive to me, the author. The majority of these pieces are relatable to anyone who has struggled with heartache, grief, or substance abuse.
I heard the term float around, but never felt it actually applied to me. “Impostor Syndrome.” It made sense, the idea of self-doubt, as it was something that was very familiar to me. I didn’t ever think about feeling like an impostor, though. That word seemed like it had intention, and implied some sort of purposeful deceit. Therefore, the thought of being an “impostor” was foreign to me, as excessive honesty, sometimes to my detriment, was my number one value.
Once I got promoted at my new job, the feelings of doubt began to set in. Thoughts like, I must be putting on a good front, nobody knows what a mess I am, soon they will realize that I’m not all that great, and even they only promoted me because of my looks.
March is almost over, and with April right around the corner and the days getting longer, I have been seriously motivated to kick some ass in my creative and professional endeavors.
I have started compiling all the pages of my upcoming book, putting it in the perfect order, fitting art pieces with the right poems, and am so excited to see it finalize and come to fruition. The writing part has been a long journey over several years, but my patience has run thin with getting the final product ready for publication. I am way too excited to turn my chaos into creation, but embarking on this path has been nothing less than divine and marvelous.
I kissed my burnt fingertips as I climbed into the driver’s seat, mentally preparing myself for the inevitable scorching grip on my steering wheel. The Sonoran Desert was in record-high heat- I’d just made a solo journey across the country, and refused to let the blistering Arizona sun discourage my wanderlust.