Where do I even begin?
When my art supplies and dirty clothes and precious gifts are in a pile by the door, when I miss the music and dancing, the laughter and crying, the sharing and understanding, when I just want to hear the voices one more time saying “Me too” and “I have been there” and “It is going to be okay.” When I am sitting alone in my make-shift make-believe studio in the corner of my bedroom, filled to the brim with inspiration and love and longing, where do I go now?
I don’t know.
But I do know that there is comfort in the not knowing, in the questions, in the uncharted road ahead, and I know that I am not alone in any of it. If I ever doubt it, I just need to remember my dear and darling friends, my fellow artists and dreamers and doers, the other kickass women who are in this with me.
(I miss you, girls.)