Tucked amongst packed moments are the reminders that every single step of our art has held some form of insecurity and uncertainty.
Encircled within the details of planned steps, the meandering of others, standout colors and those that showed up looking the same.
Reflected through seeds of trying, stillness, the right conditions and the thorns of survival.
Because the spaces of hope's blooms and the debris of the unasked for all rest within the landscape of possibilities.
In how we have been changed in the episodes of vague language where naming burdens harmonized with the poetry of flowers that inevitably didn't spring to life.
And in the permission to keep dreaming while not looking alright in mirrors that hold unanswered questions and grief.
Artists, after all, grow alongside their unfolding art set amongst an overthinking audience with writings that only validate certain conditions.
And we reread those notes, questioning the truth, making it so we can't really see or do as much as we could.
So, life goes on and we are unprepared to acknowledge self-doubt and unreliability as nourishment for anything other than what it's been.
Taken aback by legacies of struggles causing us to wrestle with opportunities to include softness and safety.
Challenged by the structure of too much to be able to create room in stories that pain has kept us in.
But then getting there doesn't make a lot of sense either because insecurity as well as uncertainty are known as wrong turns.
As the detours that we are expected to avoid even though sometimes there isn't another possible decision.
And as the common enemies that sabotage us with storms of their very own.
But what weeds leave out of conversations is that we don't have to dive headfirst into the logic of the moving parts that we are used to.
So, when the notes are fresh, give it a moment because the volume is up on the heartless thunder and the illusion is that we can't make it out.
But words packed to travel in one direction were never meant to stay that way and we get to learn to love ourselves in the before and every step after.
The magic isn't just in the flowers but in eventually being steadfast in not shrinking the artist who's growing alongside the art.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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