The Earth is molting
And though today is a day
Marked by putting layers on
Rather than taking them off
Hidden does not mean gone.
She will shed her skins again
She will bloom and rise and blush
Rolling over in crunching leaves,
Turning her face,
And baring her arms to the sun
Giving it permission
To shine on her again.
Her seasons are only moltings
She does not lose herself in them
And watching gives me hope.
She'll reemerge
And I, like her
Will too.

i have an unpopular opinion
the title there is now, call it:
musician, programmer, writer, designer, editor...
this is me. this is all me.
i'm no master at one, i'm no jack of all trades,
i'm master of some.

you see,
this thing doesn't make you who you are
you can't be defined by your careers
or even your hobbies.
they're supposed to complete you
and make you whole.
not some competition who gets what the best
don't sweat it, you have your own path

you like making music? good. you're a musician
you like programming? yikes. you're a programmer
you like writing? nice. you're a writer
you like designing? brilliant. you're a designer
you like singing? awesome. you're a singer

only you can define who you are
you're not what others tell you
you're one-in-a-million
you're human
you're you.

– billiondays