SHIT, Wilder, think!

The ominous echoes grew closer. Wishing she’d never stepped foot down here and damning every inch of those hazing lunatics at the academy, she mustered the energy to move. Whether she mustered from courage or restlessness, she wasn’t sure. Her sister’s actions had nothing to do with her, yet her reputation tainted and muddled hers anywhere she went. Assuming this school would be any different was idiotic, she supposed.

Wilder arched her back to fit the curve of the limestone. Sidestepping slowly and warily, keen to every metal shard and loose piece of rubble on the ground, she carefully moved further back into the darkness. She felt comforted and yet more terrified by the waning light simultaneously. These sounds were otherworldly, and there was no chance it was a part of some elaborate prank. One, they’re not that smart or skilled enough to pull it off. Two, they’re far too lazy, and not at all inclined to leave the safety of the wards for petty antics. So why did she venture off? Well, admittedly, she didn’t plan on it. One smug remark after another, and the goading sent her into seeing red. She was not one to cower, so she called Sloane’s bluff.

Her parents were so sure they could find a fresh start and a blank slate, but after 6 moves and 9 schools, well, Wilder had given up hope. The other students inevitably discovered who she was related to. She was either hurried past and ignored, or relentlessly teased and bullied by imbeciles with obvious daddy issues. In a spirited debate and test of courage, she took the bait to walk the tunnels this evening and not to return until morning. Wilder could still see the slackened jaw, mouth agape in shock in her mind’s eye. Any ounce of concern in his gaze purely for his own reputation should something happen to her.

For a while, there wasn’t anything worth the fuss, only the surrounding etchings and the smell of damp rock permeating the air. The cavernous path was meditative and almost peaceful with the rhythmic drips of water in the dusky dark. She continued weaving, lost in thought until discovering she was not alone. It started with hints so distant it was easy to believe they were just tricks of the mind. Unfortunately, it grew, and the dread began to sink into the pit of her stomach. The sounds of the beast didn’t seem hurried, nor angry, which was a point in her favor. It was likely then it had no idea she was here, and she knew it was best to keep it that way. She had no idea what it was, but had enough of an instinct to know it was no good.

Suddenly, the earth groaned, and pieces of rubble trickled down the walls with the shake of it. An unsteady knee on the raining stones from above, Wilder tripped, her fumbled footsteps ringing in her ears. The hiss of the rocks from dragging underfoot was a punctuation mark amidst the skipping chorus of tinks and thuds.

A roaring filled the limestone maze. The air grew 10 degrees colder, the throaty boom grew closer. Wilder flailed. She regained her footing and ran, zigzagging from one side to the other. Using her hands to launch off each side like a catapult, hoping it would make her faster. Like kicking off the wall of a pool, except, these weren’t fluid movements. They were desperate. She careened from the left side to the right again and again and again, until her fingertips landed on something wooden and polished, a stark contrast to the coarse, dimpled limestone from before.

A door.

Wilder could barely see, but her hands searched and fumbled for some semblance of a knob. There. She felt its ghost, an empty space where a handle should be, likely due to past seismic activity. The bellows grew and finally rounded the corner, rendering her running insufficient and bound for a speedier impending doom. Its form was an approaching blur in the darkness, and there wasn’t much time. Before Wilder could think better of it, she took the switchblade to her palm and felt the warmth of her blood trickle off her wrist. She slammed her hand on the panel and watched as a familiar decal, carved in the top rail flickered with a lavender glow. Eyes wide, she gasped.

It can’t be true… I thought…

The thing was mere feet away now, and there was no time for an identity crisis. Some clicking sounds began reverberating, gears groaning to life from centuries unused. She didn’t worship any Gods, but now would’ve been a good time to pray to one. The door finally flung open, the beast just shy of her heels. She had hardly one foot in the doorway before a blur of speed rammed into the small of her back, shoving her away from an instantaneous blast of wind that smacked the door shut. The force of the slam sent another ripple of loosened gravel tumbling. The gust and the growling almost deafening as the gears were grinding and groaning once more. When the vibrations and the roaring stopped, Wilder found herself on the ground. Hunched over, knees and elbows scraped, with her hands cupping the back of her head like she was in a tornado drill. Blood was pooling on the nape of her neck. It dripped onto the silt, reminding her of what she’d done. Most importantly, what it meant.

It seemed the creature accepted defeat. The door mechanisms were no longer screeching, but somehow the quiet was just as loud. She questioned how long it’d been quiet, unable to pinpoint when the external noise was replaced with the internal. All she could hear was her racing heartbeat, the pounding of her head, the pulse of her palm, and wings flapping.

Wait, wings?

Apprehensive, but with no other choice, she pushed herself up with her hands, her bleeding palm stinging as sand granules dug into the wound. Eyes opening cautiously, prepared for a new sort of death, her gaze followed the sound. The dim, candle in the corner illuminated the space and the flapping winged creature before her. Even with the heavy shadow, she knew exactly what it was. It had a fox’s head, eagle wings and front talons, a lion’s hind, and a wolf like tail. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She rubbed them with her fists, mindful of the blood, blinking furiously, but it remained.

It’s an enfield…

Seeming to sense the recognition, it lowered to the ground with grace and precision. Wilder was shaking as the enfield approached. She’d lost her grip on the switchblade during the commotion. The talons on the creature looked incredibly sharp, and the glow of its gaze was calm and cunning. For a moment, it stared her dead in the eyes. The tension felt like the stillness before the pounce, like a taut rubber band. She braced herself, shying away from the eye contact but unable to fully look away. A creature of myth was in arm’s reach. It’s amber irises like infinite pools. The vertical slit pupils boring holes into her. It wasn’t menacing, but it felt intense.

The anticipation snapped as it hopped forward. Wilder squinted and braced for sharp teeth and torn flesh. Instead she felt something warm, wet, and rough like sandpaper. After two licks on her left temple and a nuzzle in the nook of her neck, Wilder took this to mean ‘friend not foe’. The enfield took a step back and shook its body, lifting its hind paw to scratch its neck behind the ear. Then, it casually strode away to the tunnel beyond. After a few feet, it glanced back, as if waiting to be followed. Wilder felt the implication. Pausing for a just a moment, she weighed her options. Seemingly, she had none. So, she rose to her feet, and followed the enfield into the unknown.

Thank you so much for reading!

Last week, I decided my Sunday post would be a little different - a new and unfamiliar challenge - write the beginning of a fantasy story.

Let me know if you enjoyed it and want to know what happens next!

Sincerely,

Grace

remember to breathe

is a funny thing

to think,

something so vital could be overlooked

hurried past

shallow and irreverent 

sitting on a choir riser

the creak of the metal with each shift of our bodies

our notebooks, a familiar weight, in hand 

marking breaths like apostrophes

made permanent in graphite flicks of the wrist

remember to breathe

each phrase pondered 

considering the stretch of melody

vowel shapes and consonants honed in scrutiny

breaths punctuating the stanzas intentionally

meticulously 

shaping the wall of sound 

i knew when to breathe

when to break for a pregnant pause

how to swell in crescendo with my diaphragm 

deep belly breaths only

the chest was too shallow to sustain

inhale 4

hold

exhale 8 

inhale 4 

hold

exhale 10

inhale 4 

hold

exhale 12

remember to breathe

reminders now found on the yoga mat

a guided meditation 

at the potters wheel

when my blood begins to boil 

or my eyes begin to leak

to brace for bad news

or calm a fast beating heart

remember to breathe

is a funny thing

something so innate and inherent 

a muscle we now strengthen 

like our biceps 

or our attention span

and we can’t quite pin point 

when exactly 

when did we start forgetting to breathe

She always imagined a quaint backdrop and an infinite feeling of free time like the expansive stretch of a heart opener. Life had a way of constricting and condensing this expectation. Hours flew, minutes dragged, but all in reversed order. Never intending to choose one passion over another yet always finding it could either be consciously made or inevitably would be made for her to an extent. The consequence of doing a little bit of everything was an insatiable hunger. She could do it all, sure, but the desire was never fully sated for any medium. Even choosing one, she supposed, wouldn’t scratch the itch of the ravenous hunger to create and explore. Whether enjoyed thoroughly and slowly like a three course meal or haphazardly like a quick snack in greedy handfuls, it was always worth the effort.

Her hands enveloped the mug as she drew in a sip, pursing her lips to dampen the heat.

Pen to paper. What if I never stop wanting more?

Chills rippled down her arms. Pen to paper, like an answer on the wind. Why desire less?

Pen to paper. What if I can’t carry it all?

The chills replied, you already do.

Never one to rest on her laurels, she snuffed out the fear beginning to burn in her chest, picked up the pen, and wrote freely. No judgement, no expectation clouding her intuition. By the time she finished scribbling, her tea had gone cold. She drained it in greedy gulps. Content with the time she’d carved out, she closed the notebook. Wrapping the leather cord around the booklet and looping it in itself, she realized not everything could be contained so neatly, and maybe that’s okay.

“EVERYTHING IS SCARY right now actually!” I said.

“But in a fulfilling way, I’d hope,” he replied.

Fulfilling and expansive, indeed.

I’m currently in an in-between phase before starting a new part time job. It feels like being on a rollercoaster when you’re going up, up, up, up - you can see the top of the tracks cresting in the imminent horizon and the anticipation is so immense and all consuming. I’m so thrilled and excited to begin, but there are nerves when jumping into a profession you’re not experienced in. Even when there’s knowledge and life experience to back you up, a new role will almost inevitably reveal some blind spots and require some stretching and growth. I welcome this, but any unknown can feel nerve-wracking.

Alongside this new job, the building of my business Willow & Wheel is taking some serious strides that feel amazing. It’s been 5 years of chipping away at this evolving goal, and the opportunities coming feel like an affirmation to keep going and to trust. I’m getting the control and the freedom I’ve longed for in leading a project, but also the lessons and the growth that comes with being in charge and doing it yourself. It’s not easy, but it is rewarding. It feels good to feel it in your gut that you can do something and then do the thing and prove yourself right.

The feeling of being scared shows up for me like simple fear, but also perfectionism.

Perfectionism. sigh I used to wear it like a badge of honor. However, unpacking it and seeing perfectionism for what it really is, fear, has changed my relationship with it. Most things I struggle with, at its core, is the deep seated fear that ‘I am not good enough’. So in an effort to keep me safe, feel more in control, and less afraid, perfectionism comes along with the belief that if I obsess, fixate, overthink, and hyper analyze enough then I will hack the system. I, Grace Bates-Toulson, will never make a mistake again if I just push myself hard enough. Obviously this is not the case, and living like this can be very paralyzing and suffocating. So now, I’ve adopted a different way of being that I use as a mantra when perfectionism shows up.

If I feel that spiraling begin, I say this to myself instead of freezing. Done is much better than never finished because you’re getting in your own way.

There is no hack to skip the messy bits, the learning what you don’t know that you don’t know yet. There is no person who didn’t start from the basics. We all have to start somewhere and constant judgement, shame, and fear in high heels only restricts the creative flow and our personal growth with whatever we are practicing and exploring.

I’m starting to think that comfort is for my bed sheets, a good night’s sleep, a warm meal on a cold day, a cozy night on the couch with my husband. Comfort is for the kisses on a scraped knee, a hug after you fall, a hand patting and circling your back, a loved one in your corner. Maybe I don’t want comfort in my creative practice. Maybe I don’t need it either, actually. Usually when we are comfortable in a work environment or creative practice, at some point things get stagnant. Exploration stops if you always stick to what you know. Maybe theres an ebb and flow balance of being uncomfortable, uncertain, and challenged. Maybe we each have our own pace and capacity and most likely that evolves and shifts with our internal seasons of life.

I’m not here to villainize comfort. I just don’t think we should villainize safe discomfort, either. We can approach the discomfort and fear like one would in meditation - observing it in an unreactive state. It doesn’t need to be fought, squashed, coaxed, and engaged in. Maybe it just needs presence without judgement and the grit to keep stepping, or even tip toeing, your way through it. Kinda like the goal posts we have for ourselves are constantly moving as we continue to achieve, so does our fear. Our fear baseline moves as our tolerance strengthens, as we unlock levels of liberation within ourselves to find yet another web to untangle. Kinda like your to do list will always have more things added with each task crossed off. It’s all a constant unfolding and unfurling.

You can’t prove yourself right if you’re trapped in fear induced inertia….and it’s so much more fun to believe you can than to believe you can‘t.

One step at a time, baby, and baby steps are still steps! What level of discomfort can you handle today? How can you break down your dream into the first step? And then the next? And then the next? What helps you muster courage in this season of your life? There’s seasons of action and seasons of reflection and rest. What season are you in right now?

I think it’s important to recognize where we’re at and to be honest with ourselves. When you start to recognize the difference between using your comfort zone to rejuvenate feelings of safety and restfulness vs hiding within it and being complacent - you can begin reclaiming your time and energy with intention. There are consequences with overdoing either side of the coin.

If you’re hiding in your comfort zone, you may argue that you’re content. Maybe sometimes you are. I genuinely hope so! However, I’d have to imagine there’s a part of you that feels stuck, stagnant, maybe dull, searching for passion in the dark, scared you missed your chance, jealous at others’ progress, scared to take the leap, frustrated you don’t even know what leap you’d want to take. Inevitably, your self esteem takes a hit and you compare and despair and convince yourself that you’re too mediocre, you’re not ready yet, or you’d make a fool of yourself. We can begin to believe the narrative of our fears and let it dictate our choices. But hold on -let me do some myth busting.

Ready is an illusion. You become ready by doing. You’re never truly stuck! You have choices and free will. You can always work with what you’ve got and play the long game. Missing one, two, three opportunities doesn’t mean you’re doomed. Let that wake you up to get after another one and jump in! Let that jealousy be your guide. If you’re jealous, there’s something you’re witnessing that you desire. What is it??? Maybe there’s some belief or story you’re carrying as to why that couldn’t happen to or for you. Talk it through in therapy, unpack that shit, journal that shit, and let it go! It doesn’t serve you. Don’t know what you want but know there has to be something more? Well my friend, that means you have some exploring to do. Is there a class you want to take? Anything you’re interested in pursuing? Follow your wonder. Whatever little tingles or pin pricks of inspiration you have - FOLLOW IT!!! It doesn’t have to make sense. Don’t worry about it being ‘original’. It doesn’t matter! Follow the thread. Scared you will make a mistake and look stupid? You likely will make mistakes, because duh. It’s baked into the process. Think about comedians trying on jokes for size and testing bits - they know bombing is part of the process and inevitable. Use those moments to learn and grow and stop caring so damn much what other’s think. DOING THE THING is admirable and as Miley Cyrus very wisely said in the early 2000’s- “everybody makes mistakes, everybody has those days.”

More quotes, I know I know, but they’re SO FITTING!!!!

Last Big Magic Quote, I promise! For now.

Okay, that’s enough quotes. But also, you’re welcome because they‘re good quotes. GO READ BIG MAGIC I SWEAR TO GOD! lol.

Anyway, I don’t want to wait until my 70’s.

The flip side of burrowing into your comfort zone can be tying your value to your production and your success. When you stop celebrating the wins and consistently override your nervous system for the next goal post, you are on your way to implode. You’ve surrendered your life force to the rat race and will never feel fulfilled despite your impressive strides. You may be eating discomfort for breakfast, but your hunger becomes insatiable. In this state, you sacrifice presence, peace, and balance to become a walking to do list. You can begin to idolize neglecting your need for rest and wear suffering like a badge of honor- convincing yourself you’re better for it. This is no way to live. It isn’t sustainable and at some point, the consequences to your body and mental health will no longer tolerate being ignored. From my experience, heeding your body’s whispers is a hell of a lot better than being at the mercy of its screaming demands. This way of being may yield external results, but we want the yummy delicious internal growth as well- not achievement in the external with the internal in utter shambles.

Working hard doesn’t have to mean you don’t pause or experience joy. There’s this weird lie we’ve been fed that you must suffer for greatness. Life has enough of a blend of joy, mundanity, and suffering. If greatness has been careened from life’s suffering then bravo for alchemizing your pain into something beautiful, cathartic, and healing. We don’t need to conjure unnecessary suffering to prove or flex that we are devoted to the craft, though. That’s some ego shit. Let’s leave that at the door. WE CAN MAKE ART WITHOUT AGONY!!! My wonderful Aunt said it this succinctly and I love it, knew I’d use it, so I’m giving credit where it’s due.

Listen, I don’t have it figured out. I tend to lean into the overworking side of the scale. I’m trying to keep it in check and move more sustainably. It requires a lot of patience wherein sometimes I feel like I have much more tenacity and ram energy than a well of patience to call upon. Sometimes being patient or setting something down can make the process feel excruciatingly slow. Frustrating even. Now that’s the discomfort I’m trying to eat for breakfast, because I can’t skip the rest of my life’s experiences to solely be a work horse. I’ve found that the rat race pace, at its core, also stems from fear. Fear of there not being enough opportunities out there, fear I’ll lose momentum, fear I’ll get lazy, fear my worth will decrease if I slow down the pace I produce, fear I’ll run out of time, fear I’ll be forgotten, fear I’ll never get to where I want to be if I slow down. Fear, fear, FEAR!

Bottom line, I don’t want fear making the decisions. I don’t want fear writing my story. I don’t care how it’s dressed! I don’t want to take much stock in what it says about endeavors that aren’t a true threat. I also don’t want to villainize my fear, because at the end of the day it’s just trying to keep me safe. Unknown and uncertain can feel like imminent death to fear, and in certain situations it can actually save our lives. It’s important and serves a purpose. We don’t need to squash it, intimidate it, shame it, or bargain with it. We do, however, need to learn how to sit with it, hold space for it, but not give in when we are in situations that our safety is not truly in question.

One more quote for ya, so I guess I lied. But again, you’re welcome.

Is fear running the show? What’s ’safe’ if it keeps you from living?

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Divalicious girl
Realistic is for the birds 
Though I quite like birds
And intend no insult 

Careening to a new meaning
Maybe dreaming is 
Of the birds
Like the birds
As the birds 
Preening

Like a hummingbird
Defying gravity 
Spiraling infinitely
Fibbinacci mimicking 
Intimately 
Intricacy 
Infamously
A figure 8 in flight 

Like a crow 
Clever & sagacious
Devious & tenacious 
Always curious 
Crafty 
A flying murder 
Savvy 
Mourning the old 
Adapting 
Harbinger of alchemizing 
A scavenger’s onus 

Maybe dreaming & creating 
Is a state of being 
Comparable
An inkwell of truth
Malleable 
Invoking your inner oracle 

Divalicious girl 
Realistic is rhetorical 
Sensibility implicitly
Bias

Divalicious girl
Defy 

This poem took flight with its own wings. I wrote the words “Divalicious girl” and what unfolded afterwards was propelled by that delicious mystical muse ~creativity~ we all love so much. It can feel like it has a life of its own and I’m just a conduit.

I’m fascinated by creativity… what expands it, what retracts it, what entices it.

I’m fascinated by nature… all of its patterns, diversity, and interconnected magic. There’s lessons and inspiration to be found everywhere when you’re able to slow down, be present, and move from curiosity.

When I refer to “creative living,” I am speaking more broadly. I’m talking about living a life that is driven more strongly by curiosity than by fear.

Elizabeth Gilbert, Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear

Reading Big Magic was a huge permission slip and a wrecking ball to my fear, shame, and internalized beliefs that were never mine. A huge perspective shift like an earthquake in my perception took form.

Argue for your limitations and you get to keep them.

Elizabeth Gilbert, Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear

Whenever I catch myself arguing for my limitations, I trace the origin. It almost always is something external that I internalized… words from a parent, teacher, tv show, commercial, etc. Young, impressionable, dreaming beyond bounds little me surely didn’t conjure these limitations on her own accord. She just managed to keep enough of that dreaming body in tact to assimilate and discern in adulthood.

I’m realizing I have a lot more to say about creativity and Big Magic as a whole. Stay tuned for more on that next week.

To wrap up this reflection, I’ll add some fascinating facts about hummingbirds that I’ve been so enamored by. They are the only birds that can fly backwards, hover in place, and their wings move in a continuous figure 8 pattern. I love viewing them as energetic teachers of how to pivot and approach from all angles.

I don’t want to leave the crows out either. First of all, the term “murder of crows” is so gothic and moody. What a vibe. I love how incredibly clever, crafty, and resourceful these birds are and yet they love a grudge. I view them as teachers through trickery and although unorthodox, crow medicine will move you towards transformation.

Now this will be too woo-woo for some and that’s okay. My art and my story won’t appeal to everyone and that’s not the point or my responsibility. So with that, I’ll share anyway. If there’s an energy I’m needing help unlocking within myself, I like to find an animal that embodies it to call upon. This process can be through intuition, oracle cards, a hair raising encounter of a creature during your day, or as simple as a little google search. Sometimes I’ll even collage a wallpaper for my phone that acts as a vision board. I include animals, phrases, inspiring aesthetics, and art that sets my soul on fire. We look at our phones an obscene and inordinate amount, so this is my little act of rebellion to bring intention and spiritual reminders. A little act to defy, and hopefully get back to what I weigh and value the most in life beyond the connection with my loved ones and fur friends - the art of creative living.

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I loved this piece of art I found in the public archives. I found it fitting and wanted to include it here.

In terms of reflection, I don’t have much more that I’ll say as the poem really speaks for itself.

Narcissists are truly pervasive, and it can be devastating to witness them do what they do best. As an outsider, you can see it so clearly.

Warning someone when they’re deep into it and don’t want to listen is like gripping sand in the palm of your hand while submerged in the ocean. Good fucking luck.

I’ve had the pleasure of being raised by a narcissist, dating one, and working for the aforementioned - so I feel like I’ve learned how to navigate it on all fronts at this point and how to spot it from miles away.

In this case, I learned an extra nugget of truth - if your “friend” is a flying monkey, they’re not really your friend at the end of the day. All values and character are forfeit, and traded for puppet strings and monkey wings.

Isn’t it interesting how we can desire something with all of our might, make it happen, live it and love it for a time, to suddenly…or gradually…feel constricted by it?

There was a point in time where it filled your cup and suddenly…or gradually…it feels draining. Nothing about IT has changed, but YOU have.

Honor that.

It’s okay to outgrow an old dream, an old version of yourself, a chapter of your life. It’s okay to do it a thousand times over.

Refuse to be contained by what you’ve outgrown. Even if it’s still serviceable. Even if it’s still in good shape.

You don’t have to justify starting anew. You don’t have to wait until your expansion is screaming at you in blisters to begin again. You don’t have to apologize for evolving.

In the end, isn’t that what we’re here to do?

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In other words, JUST FUCKING DO IT. No, this is not sponsored by Nike.

What better way to kick off my Substack than my first post being about answering creativity’s call?

Originally, I wrote a post with an excerpt from my poetry book from 2017, Who Really Left You, with some reflections. However, the universe had different plans. Be it mercury in retrograde or the mysteries of life, the old post glitched in it’s saved progress and poofed out of reality. That’s okay. Frustrating? Yes. But, it nudged me into sitting down to write a poem and out of the faucet flowed this piece, and it honestly couldn’t be more fitting.

Showing up and starting the thing before you feel ready has been a fairly steady lesson and practice I’ve cultivated in my life. In many ways, I’ve always been like this. Whether or not you believe in astrology, I am an Aries sun in the western chart. I say this, because in terms of starting projects, I feel akin to its mascot - the Ram. While I’m not a testosterone driven beast head-butting for dominance and attention, I am one to charge forward in a voracious and stubborn manner in terms of starting a project or achieving a goal. I’ve joked to my friends that when I realize I am actually afraid of doing something that is calling to me, I decide to throw myself into the deep end. And you know what? It works. It’s like ripping off a band-aid. You truly can’t know or embody the thing by thinking it to death. Thinking and planning helps, don’t get me wrong. However, practice in doing the thing is the only way to feel ready or competent at doing the thing. It’s the same as saying you need to see it to believe it, when oftentimes it’s the other way around in the quantum physics of it all.

I self-published a poetry book in 2017 before I felt ready. I formed a band when I lived in Nashville before I felt ready to lead a band. I kept practicing pottery even when I didn’t feel good enough. I jumped into my first florist-in-training role with no experience, and I went for it because my fear of failure couldn’t outweigh my desire to try. I joined a wedding band even though performing in that way and MCing scared me. It still does! I finally answered the call to start doing the social media thing for my growing floral design and pottery business - Willow & Wheel - even though it can feel out of my comfort zone. That’s the ticket though! The expansion, success, growth, and fulfillment you’re longing for is standing outside of your comfort zone with open arms. I grew exponentially in the act and art of doing those things before I felt ready or good enough. Starting anything new can feel vulnerable. The more you do it anyway and survive, the stronger the muscle of doing it anyway gets and so will your skills in doing the thing.

Allow yourself to be a beginner. Allow yourself to try and heed the call that is beckoning you! Allow yourself to believe it before you see it!

I can teeter from my desire to be seen and heard to my fear of it just the same, but here I am - creating my Substack, doing it anyway.

So, what can you expect to find in my Substack moving forward?

Truthfully, I’m still figuring it out. The logistics of free and paid tiers, content schedules, and offerings will come….and knowing me, they’ll come with the momentum of a battering ram.

However, I know you’ll find poetry, songwriting, vulnerable and honest reflections, spiritual musings, short stories, and more as I evolve and grow and expand in the act and art of doing the thing.

I hope you feel called to follow along.