I wouldn’t call myself a writer. I am a writer. I am someone who writes. I am someone who expresses theirselves best through words. And dance. But I wouldn’t call myself a dancer. I am a dancer. I am someone who dances. I am someone who expresses. I am someone. I am.
I am in this precarious balance between wanting to make things happen at a breakneck pace and surrendering to the mysteries of the Universe and allowing opportunities to naturally rise. I remind myself that the Universe isn't in a rush...only my mind makes me think I am. Maybe being back in the city that never sleeps has an affect on my mindset. The rush to get from Point A to Point B...like a jackhammer to the road.
Sitting in a cafe in Mexico, I had a chat with my mom, telling her of my plans to maybe come home in a week. At first, she was excited. The prodigal daughter returns.
When I wake up in the morning, I am entering a new version of yesterday's creation. Physically, things may be the same, yet all the living components within the scene have infinite possibilities.
𝟑𝟔𝟓 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐎, I was a little drunk on champagne as my flight to Bangkok took off, just as NYC decided to declare a state of emergency. As I woke up this morning in the magical town of Tepoztlan, Mexico, I recounted what I experienced that fateful day exactly one year ago. I woke up [...]