I can imagine my life in a lot of ways.
I’m an artist.
I’m a social worker.
I’m a traveler with a backpack and a ukulele that walks the borders of people’s lives stopping by for their capital moments and leaving to a port, passing to my next adventure.
The honest truth is I am overwhelmed by the trauma in the world.
Should I illuminate it in scenes that make you question your own morality?
Shall I work, and callus my hands in the rough of the this reality or should I run? Run through and learn and question and return only to realize I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t live in a society of things that hold value, rather than life. In a place where people’s problems are too small when I know that all you need to be happy is clean water, warmth and enough food so you can sit and share, and laugh and love.
But that love is important too. And in whatever life I imagine I want that. A love that stretches past my vast valleys of imperfections and who will share theirs with me. A love that can withstand and give strength in the bends of life. And as we take those tight corners, whatever we imagine, will be together.