Tag: writing

more about the painting (part 2)

First of all, I’m a delight. Second: “…I am certain that after the dust of centuries has passed over our cities, we, too, will be remembered not for victories or defeats in battle or in politics, but for our contribution to the human spirit.” – JFK, November 29, 1962

photo of a partial painting with a unicorn horn

In October of last year (2024), upon the return from a small trip away, my husband asked me to come talk to him outside our house–and to leave my phone inside. Jokingly I said, “What, you afraid that Two Guys From Quantico Pizza will show up?” He just gave me this look and asked me to walk outside again.

These are not our exact words, but as close as I can remember them – as that day kinda lives rent free in my brain.

Him: “So you know that painting hanging on the wall of our living room.”
Me: “Yep, I know that one.”
Him: “Well, I was thinking how we need some resources to do repairs on our house, so I looked up the artist who painted it.”
Me: “Awesome! Is it worth something?”
Him: “Well, I’m not sure you are ready to hear this, but this is what I learned…”

He bought the painting at a store called Randalls in the early 1980s. At the time he was doing construction work in the Houston area, and he would see it every time he purchased groceries. “It was captivating, and somehow I knew it would be important in the future. I saved my money, then walked in one day and purchased it,” he said tentatively.

At this point my heart was racing a little bit. Was the artist someone super famous that I didn’t know about? I mean the provenance was already captivating, so I asked if he still had the receipt. He didn’t, but still…the story was pretty interesting so far, and I was anxious to hear more.

Him: “So I looked up the artist, and they are still living. After a bit of sleuthing I found their email and wrote to them.” (keeping things gender neutral because past experiences have shown me that the internet has eyes)
Me: “Oh yeah, and what did they say?”
Him: “That it’s their work, and they can verify that they put their fingerprint on the paper for verification.”
Me: “Okay, this is all really, really good, and will help us when contacting appraisers and such.”
Him: “Yeah, but maybe we should just get rid of it at a donation store or something.”
Me: “Why? It’s just a painting of an animal on a knoll.”
Him: “Yeah, well, I think there might be more to it than just a nice painting of a mythical animal…let me tell you about the artist and their tie to an event in Dallas, Texas in the 60s…”

Not to sound all conspiratorial, and also this is not a “hook” to get all y’all to keep reading/viewing my work. When we, as a family, decided to tell the story of how this painting was a touchstone for our lives together, my content was taken down from TikTok, Bluesky, the Metaverse, and was throttled on the place formerly known as Twitter. This was shocking to me due to the amount of deep dives into obscure things that were literally the bread and butter of those sites. I mean there were viral videos in the same vein as the artist of the painting. Also, nothing shared was in violation of anyone’s terms. In fact I lead with the story of how this painting felt like a “sign” when my husband and I began dating. (more on that at a later time)

It was just history, a bit of, “well isn’t this a coincidence,” and a lot of, “Hey, we are trying to help the family have some more resources, so we are thinking of selling this painting by [artist’s name], and would love if you could share our story.”

We have a ballpark figure for what this painting might be worth, and have reached out to a few art professionals on how to put it up for sale. It’s just, when we share its provenance (which is very important, btw), things get a little bit wonky.

Another thing for y’all to know is that I didn’t come back to my creative life just to push this story for likes/shares. In the long ago days I was a professional photographer (award winning), and a published poet (also award winning). Alongside that I was a professional “weird lady down the street,” working in the field of health, spirituality, and advocacy (think science based holistic work that was an anathema to gimmicky MLM “wellness” influencers). Toss in the fact that I’ve been “online” since my teens, watching it go from anything goes chat rooms to ID verification. Know that even with VPNs, routing around the world, hiring the world’s greatest hackers, and placing magical talismans around your server — all your work are belong to “us,” with all the digital information camping out in the wires.

What I’m trying to say here is this – it would be helpful for my family if we can sell this painting. Trying to do so made my work get throttled by the all seeing eye of whoever is in charge. Can I use this painting to help promote my stuff? Of course. At the same time it would be nice to just have my work do well on its own. Does it feel like I’m between the devil and the deep blue sea with all of it?

Yes.

Could my family and I see all this as more than what it really is?

Also yes.

It’s just that here in 2025, life seems a little more urgent…and I’m worn out with trying to sit nicely in the corner when there are stories to be told. Rumi suggested that we “be notorious,” so that’s my goal. I contain multitudes, have no idea what I’m doing half the time, and have been so very safe for far too long.

Hopefully this has been as vague as the bots like, but my guess is that it’s going to be throttled yet again. The more this happens the less my content will show up in your feed. Guess that’s just the breaks these days, ‘eh?

Thanks for reading – part 3 will come out tomorrow (hopefully).

Much love,
~ KEU

Currently listening to: Life in a Northern Town by Dream Academy
Currently Reading: A Wrinkle in Time by Madeline L’Engle

can you afford to be an individual

First of all, I am a delight. Second, “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” ― Thomas Merton , No Man Is an Island

crow standing in a field with sunbeams

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

On August 1st of this year (2025) a great removal started. 23 years of journals, art supplies, clothing, books, knick knacks, and the weight of other people’s opinions.

Something happens when you strip away all the things you thought you should be. Or, rather…all the things you thought would help people understand how you navigate the world. You see there’s a high cost to being authentic. Not the sound bite bull caca online, but the wild-eyed dance of knowing you’ve shenan’ed once…and will absolutely shenan again. It’s more like the gift/curse that comes with seeing everything in shades of grey – the neither/nor liminal walk into the unknown that we call being human.

In order to see what’s going on within yourself, you gotta step away from what I call non-conforming conformists. These are the folks that aren’t like anyone else except each other. You see this often in the repetition of viral posts/videos, where if it works for those folks it will work for you, too. Sometimes it does, but mostly it just puts you in a club of cool kids that enjoy the fruits of being popular. Honestly, I get it – there’s safety in numbers. We are hard wired for community, so it makes sense that we look for spaces to fit into with copycat behaviors.

This is what I was going for in yesterday’s post, until one of the cats decided that it needed some more work.

Sociology has been a great love of mine, but I never took it to the academic level – meaning it wasn’t one of my many possible degree programs in college. Where I finally landed was secondary education, English literature, and comparative religions/religious studies. Side note for ya – my credit hours would give me a doctorate level degree, but I decided to get married and have babies. Or, rather, the Universe decided that for me. By age 27 I’d taken my GPA from a 0.4 to a 4.0 – got the Golden Key stuff and even got an invitation to apply for a Rhodes Scholarship – but as we all know…life had other plans. *(Sadly I didn’t meet all the requirements to fill out the application, but it was nice to be considered.) Oh, and I’m short 12 credit hours from having my undergrad. If being a professional student was an actual thing, I’d be applying right now.

car full of items to be donate with a blow mold of mother Mary with child

Bewilderment
There are many guises for intelligence.
One part of you is gliding in a high windstream,
while your more ordinary notions
take little steps and peck at the ground.

Conventional knowledge is death to our souls,
and it is not really ours. It is laid on.
Yet we keep saying we find “rest” in these “beliefs.”

We must become ignorant of what we have been taught
and be instead bewildered.

Run from what is profitable and comfortable.
Distrust anyone who praises you.
Give your investment money, and the interest
on the capital, to those who are actually destitute.

Forget safety. Live where you fear to live.
Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.
I have tried prudent planning long enough.

From now on, I’ll be mad.
– Rumi

After years of walking around on social media (specifically the one with the big blue F), I started losing my ability to stand upright in my own skin. It happens to the best and strongest of us – so if you’re going through it just know that you’re not alone. It’s tough out there to be who you are.

Thing is, some folks are just born with a different set of colors in their palette. Sometimes it looks like a genetic health issue, bad parenting, socio-economic conditions, or a secret unknown thing. Heck, it could be all of the above, which is like winning the weirdo lottery where all the niches you could fill don’t have a place for you due to that “unknown” aura circling above your head.

One of the reasons I write, create, and generally engage in living life to the fullest, is to show others that it’s safe to be who they are – or who they want to be. While searching for someone to help me understand all the things, very few stepped up, so I learned how to do it myself. *(side note: this also happens for folks who grew up poor, learning how to survive and fix all the things on their own.)

And not just a few things, but literally all the things. When you do that, guess what you start to acquire? If you said 3 car loads worth of stuff, that would be the correct answer.

This is day 13, the luckiest one, of standing exactly where I want to be. As I’ve written previously, it’s a rebirth of sorts – or maybe something akin to what a Phoenix experiences. It’s a little scary, and it takes a lot of energy to walk the talk. My plan is to document all of this through words, images, and videos (yes, videos, please don’t come at me). The end result (fingers crossed) will be a nicely edited book. Heck, let’s just say the sky is the limit here and go for a movie deal.

Because, dear readers…everything I’m about to tell you is true.

Much love,
~ KEU

Currently listening to: A Perfect Circle (album: Thirteenth Step)
Currently reading: (well re-reading) The Cats of Tanglewood Forest by Charles de Lint

why I don’t watermark

First of all, I am a delight. Second, cats can be the harshest editors…

black and white photo of a gargoyle on a porch rail

So the title has nothing to do with today’s post, but my guess is that it made you look.

“For even the very wise cannot see all ends.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Also, one of the cats decided to take up editing. She highlighted some text, then sent it into the nebulous digital spaces that hold unseen content by tapping some keys. It seems the Universe had other ideas, so today you just get a “viral” hook, a small story about my cat, and a photo. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have a bit more brain capacity.

Much love,
~ KEU

Currently listening to: Yo La Tengo (album: There’s a Riot Going On)
Currently reading: (well re-reading) The Cats of Tanglewood Forest by Charles de Lint

the fear of leaving the book of face

First, I am a delight. Second, we are all just walking each other home…

image of a bald faced hornet getting a drink with feral bees

“I suppose the other thing too many forget is that we were all stories once, each and every one of us. And we remain stories. But too often we allow those stories to grow banal, or cruel or unconnected to each other. We allow the stories to continue, but they no longer have a heart. They no longer sustain us.”
― Charles de Lint, The Onion Girl

While this could start with all the platitudes about how doing hard things make us stronger, or that we only “grow” when life pushes us from our comfort zones, no one needs that kind of rhetoric on a beautiful Saturday morning. Thing is, I’m currently doing it with a daily meditation on if I need this or that thing, releasing all that I allowed to hold me back – except for the biggest shift…the one that seems to draw opinions from the voices in the Greek chorus.

I want to leave Facebook, along with the other platforms in the Metaverse.

You can barely turn around without finding an article about the dangers of social media – particularly Facebook – and how we would all be better without it invading our lives. As someone with a background in providing support for others, I agree with that sentiment fully but am having trouble with applying it to my life.

This issue has nothing to do with seeking attention, worrying about missing out, or that people won’t be able to find my work. It’s that I’ve given myself too much time in a world that goes against my personal set of ethics. Being there gives me this creepy feeling of not being authentic – of wanting to write/create/post something that gives an accurate depiction of how I live my life that also gets to the top of a timeline.

Like, y’all, I’ve sat in front of the “delete your account” option in some kind of weird meditative state until deciding that one more day will be okay. I literally threw out 20-some-odd years of journals, gave away all my old art supplies, filled my car 3 times with things to donate, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of the one thing that causes me the most problems.

Today there’s a full Moon in Aquarius, and as it was rising during the night, dreams came to me on the beams of light shining through my window. These were not my usual symbolic brain shows, but more like pictorial manifestos on letting go of what holds me back. When I woke it felt as if I’d just finished the iron man version of talk therapy — and with every fiber of my being I knew it was time to walk away from the Metaverse for a little while. It’s a wee bit scary, but also exciting. There are some really good things on the horizon that need my full attention, so it will be good to be free of that particular distraction.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

If you’ve left Facebook/the Metaverse, I would love to hear your story. What I’ve heard from others so far is that their lives became infinitely better. Or, if you have thoughts about social media in general, please feel free to share those, too.

Much love,
~ KEU

take a shower and shine your shoes

Everything I’m about to tell you is true…
First of all, I am a delight. Second, I’m on season 8 of Supernatural - which makes for some interesting background noise.

lawn goose with a crocheted outfit on.

“Often, moreover, it is…that aspect of our being that society finds eccentric, ridiculous, or disagreeable, that holds our sweet waters, our secret well of happiness, the key to our equanimity in malevolent climes.”
― Tom Robbins, Still Life with Woodpecker

Yesterday I began the process of untangling myself from the Meta-verse. After a year of waffling, it was time to take for taking steps toward the exit.

While I thought rainbows would cover the sky while winged kittens brought me magic jelly beans on golden trays, it was just kind of sad. Because my brain likes to do these things, I did a rough estimation of how much time I devoted to Haus of Zuck.

First, I did take some time off of FB/IG for about a year. There were life shenanigans, and time was precious. According to the stats from my phone, on a usual day I average about 1.5 hours of scrolling. In 2006 I started using FB – and with one year off, that would be 18 years of using the platform. We all know how many days are in a year, but I’m gonna use 360 due to times of illness/days of not looking at my phone.

What we have now is 1.5 (hours) multiplied by 360 (days), which equals 540 hours per year. Let’s multiply that number by 19, which brings us to 10,260 hours of time…or roughly 427.5 days.

427.5 days.

Uh…what? Like that’s a full year of non-stop scrolling (and all I got was this neck cramp and repetitive motion issues).

This is a sobering number, and it’s going to take me a little bit to process the reality of it. What was I hoping to find, and how did it make my life better? I could have walked to each of the coastlines in the United States, or hiked the Appalachian Trail. Better yet I could have just gone into my community to see if people needed help instead of watching life move along my screen.

In a delightful brain squirrel moment, I gotta say that the amount of times Supernatural subtly breaks the 4th wall brings me a ton of joy. Also, I couldn’t remember how to spell “subtly” for a hot minute. Thank goodness the internet came to my rescue. (I say dryly with my eyes starting to look upward)

Okay, so, after seeing that number – and y’all feel free to check my arithmetic on that – I’m gonna go outside and stare at some trees.

But first, some haiku…

becoming awake
push button enlightenment
some random verses

As a gentle reminder, typo fairies live with me. I promise you that my editing skills are good, but somehow once I hit “publish” everything goes haywire.

Much love,
~ KEU

the fickle nature of bots

Everything I’m about to tell you is true…

First of all, I am a delight. Second, all of us are content.

“Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.”
― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

black and white photo of a candle in the darkness

In the Before Times, around 2005 or so, it was very easy to become popular on the internet without doing much work. All you needed was a site on blogger, some captivating descriptions in your meta data, and an account on MySpace. Or, in my case, an account on LiveJournal…this kind of not-so-underground online cafe of sorts.

In those days folks could read your work for free – zero paywalls, very little ads, and no push for turning your life into a side hustle. If you were lucky enough to get another popular person to green light your work, it helped elevate your stats to get top ranking. The statement, “likes for likes” isn’t new – us elder social media users made liberal use of those words as we frantically clamored to reach the stars.

But now? It seems we are not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

So you know, I’m not about to give a scathing exposition on the nature of how modern humans use the internet. There are a lot of other folks doing a way better job at that than I am.

It’s just, I don’t know, it feels as if we’ve become hybrid humans trying to convince each other we are real.

“Look at me, look at me
Just called to say that it’s good to be
Alive in such a small world
I’m all curled up with a book to read
I can make money, open up a thrift store
I can make a livin’ off a magazine
I can design an engine
Sixty-four miles to a gallon of gasoline”
– Handlebars, Flobots

A few days ago I learned that people will not like your posts because it messes with their carefully tuned algorithm. Back in my day, if we saw a grainy photo of a cat looking out the window, then read a typo-infused manifesto about the beauty of bread dough, we immediately hit the “like” button. Not only that, we left comments that said, “OMG, what an adorable kitten,” or “Bread dough is lyfe.” And friends, I cannot even express the sheer joy of being about to write, “First!” on someone’s post. Or laughing over “All your base are belong to us.” We thought the internet was going to make us happier people, a brave new world of real connection.

Along with the algorithm thing, I learned that there are bot farms ready to jump on content to make it go viral so you can pay the bot farms to make you go viral. On a site that shall not be named, something I shared got a bunch of likes very quickly, which apparently triggered one of these bot farms. Imagine my surprise to see a ton of notifications when I stopped in to look at my feed. And not just that, there were multiple comments with the exact same words: “OMG! Love your content!! Reach out to us for a brand deal!” Did the people working on the bot farms not add in some code that says something like, “if comment says ‘OMG! Love your content’ then post, ‘This is great, can I add you to my list of contacts?’.”

After my morning coffee and quiet time, I had to really think about moving forward in the online world. How can I maintain my voice in a world of fake authenticity? Will I be able to keep myself from diving into waters of the brave new world so that I can move up on the charts? Being honest with all y’all, can I shore up my resolve enough to share the things that speak deeply to my soul?

There were no clear answers, which left me with a decision – will I let the bots curate my life, or will I stand in my fullness?

I guess we will both find out as the days go by.

Just to make sure you know, all my work was created by me. No AI, no bots, no algorithms. I promise to be real – all the time – and to interact with you in the way humans are made to do. The one thing about me is that I’m far from perfect, and there are days that feel so tactile that trying to form a full sentence is like crawling across the desert for a tablespoon of water. It’s my hope to share that realness with you here (and other places) because for far too long I kept it hidden.

Well, it’s lunchtime in these parts, so I’m off to find some snacks. Thank you for being here. I truly appreciate it, and am grateful for the time you spent reading my (typo fairy edited) ramble.

Much love,
~ KEU

letting it all go…

Everything I’m about to tell you is true.

image of a car filled with bags and boxes to be donated.

First of all, I’m a delight.

Image of bags and boxes in a car to be donated.

Second, I will not go gently into that good night.

“Don’t forget – no one else sees the world the way you do, so no one else can tell the stories that you have to tell.”
― Charles de Lint, The Blue Girl

There have been days where the level of my anxiety makes hearing “DEFCON 1” look like child’s play. Part of that feeling is genetic, with the other part being situational. However, the secret third thing was the never-ending wonkiness that comes from hanging onto things that were never mine in the first place.

Over the past two weeks I’ve taken such a fearless moral inventory of, well, everything. Think of it like advanced navel-gazing for the weary soul – that place where you have to ask yourself eleventy billion reflective questions on the state of your being. From there you pick up all the Most Important Things You’ve Ever Owned, asking the the hardest question ever — do you spark joy?

Now before folks come for me, because the online world loves to point out all the places you are wrong, know that I fully understand the absolute privilege in owning things…then giving them away. Also, please know that you might view these images and have thoughts about people who just keep collecting things to an unhealthy level. That’s fine, it’s not my job or place to get your mind to see my perspective(s). Plus, this is my story, and telling it is gonna take a lot more courage than what’s floating around me right now. Thing is, I’ve held it back for so long, and after realizing that I am, in fact, a bad a**, it’s time to share it. Not because I need some kind of weird validation, but in the words of Ani DiFranco: “When you look at me
You see my purpose
See my pride
You think I just saddle up my anger
And ride and ride and ride
You think I stand so firm
You think I sit so high on my trusty steed
Let me tell you
I’m usually face down on the ground
When there’s a stampede
I’m no heroine
At least, not last time I checked
I’m too easy to roll over
I’m too easy to wreck
I just write about
What I should have done
I just sing
What I wish I could say
And hope somewhere
Some woman hears my music
And it helps her through her day”

(side note, this is a space for everyone, so while this song mentions women, it applies to all people)

When I was struggling, and I mean struggling to the point that I didn’t even know how to form sentences that made sense, my brain needed to find someone going through the fire as well. While a good therapist, my own stubborn nature, my family, and my therapist were there clapping for me as I ran in life’s race…everything in me just needed to see that someone else made it to the finish line.

A weird little thing about my brain is that while I was out searching, it was also important to learn all the things about what was bothering me. There is this long list of certifications for modalities needed, but that were out of my price range. Meaning it was going to be less expensive to get that piece of paper than find someone doing what the piece paper offered. Total word jumble there, but that’s the best way for me to explain my process(es). In every practicum or case study, that’s when a series of small epiphanies happened…
– everyone has struggles and challenges
– we all need someone to listen fully
– it’s not always about you
– healing isn’t linear
– the hardest thing to do is ask for help

You wanna know something that was hard for me? Kind of like the Achilles heal acting up as you and Sisyphus roll that huge boulder up a hill while some parallel universes held a sword of Damocles over your head…all while the Greek chorus was whispering in your ear…

I couldn’t let go. That’s it, there’s my huge big secret.

Then all of a sudden, in a literal sleep waking moment, I was like, “Oh…snap. If I keep holding onto this stuff nothing else can come my way.”

Now I’m out here flailing my arms like those weird balloon characters in front of pawn shops while remembering who I am (and who I was) before everything weighed me down.

Before signing off for the day, it’s important to share this with you.

It is absolutely okay to not be okay. Rumi says this being human is a guest house, and that might be one of life’s biggest truths…but if not being okay is preventing you from fully living, please reach out for help. That’s not a subtle nod to sell you something, or get you to join my program for only $49.99 a month…but a genuine offer for you to just lay it down for a bit. It’s okay to leave it here. I’ll keep it safe…there’s plenty of room. Just so you know, we do have cats, who are curious, so they might check it out from time to time. But in all seriousness…you can leave it here.

Alright – this is day 3 of getting back to what I love. It might be important to tell you, which I usually do in the beginning, is that there is a whole troop of typo faeries that live in my computer. While I leave them cream, chocolate, and fancy cheeses, they do love to dance on my keyboard after I hit “publish.” Please know that I do my best to check my writing, but if something slips by…it doesn’t mean I’m uneducated or a bad writer. Also, if that kind of thing bothers you, then maybe my work isn’t gonna be something you enjoy.

Thank you for shining your light. Thank you for doing hard things. Thank you for being as real as you can be given the (*waves hands*) way things are going.

Much love,
~ KEU

Be notorious

Image is a photography of feral bees getting water to drink.

“It’s so freeing, it’s beautiful in a way, to have a great failure, there’s nowhere to go but up.” ― David Lynch

First of all, I’m a delight. Second, it is my greatest goal to be absolutely notorious. Third, there is a whole group of typo fairies that follow me around.

It has been a beautifully quiet day, and I’ve enjoyed some offline writing. However, to stick with my rhythm and routine, here’s a little haiku for you.

limitless singing
spinning with divinity
cosmic engaging

May there be peace in all that you do today. May the planets align in a way that reflects your inner beauty.

Much love,
~ KEU

resurrection

Photo displays a statue of a woman with the words "Let there be light" written in English and Hebrew.

“How can you rise, if you have not burned”
― Hiba Fatima Ahmad

First of all, I’m a delight…

Not sure how many times I’ve sat in front of this big empty space sharing the finer details from the inner machinations of my mind, or all the ramblings about how things will be “from now on.” Also, if there was a record for transformational life experiences, I’m pretty sure I’d at least be in the top 3% of people who have walked through fires they never imagined facing.

That’s not a humble brag, nor is it one of those, “Look at me over here doing better at life when it ties my shoes together,” but more like a realization that God must be tired of trying to get my attention.

Over the past two weeks I’ve:
– filled 3 giant trash cans with things that should have been tossed long ago.
– taken two car loads of items to be donated (filling 7 carts)
– shredded old after visit summaries
– tossed genealogy research that wasn’t going anywhere
– taken a fearless moral inventory of my life
– donated 2 boxes of books
– faced my biggest fear(s)
– made a realistic set of goals
– been consistent in my daily routines
– stopped seeking approval
– become notorious
– danced barefoot in wet grass

A not-so-secret thing about is me that I’ve been a huge scaredy-cat for most of my life. Without waxing poetic, let me just say that having that shadow hang over me hasn’t done me one iota of good — especially when many of the things I worried about turned out okay in the end.

Recently the Universe decided it was ready for me to stop waffling, get my life in line, and start shining brightly. While it was just easier for me to say, “Oh, that can happen tomorrow,” thinking that was becoming a 400 ton boulder around my waist. You know, just me and this rock walking around in life trying to make folks think living this way is normal.

Them: “Hey, what’s that huge thing behind you?”
Me: “Oh, this – it’s nothing important. I’m just doing some weight training.”
My brain: “Flee you fool, they will see that it’s actually the crushing weight of things that don’t need to be worried about…ever.”
My soul: “What she’s not telling you is that she’s had big dreams for such a long time, that she’d convinced herself were impossible, so now this rock is an egregore of all the growth she’s overlooked.”
My body: “Girl, I’ve sent you kidney stones, GI problems, falling down, shingles, lower back pain, and I’m about to send you some stress related muscle issues if you don’t untie that thing from your waist.”
God/The Universe/Insert your personal belief system here: “Hold my wine…”

Something changes within you after standing up for those you love. There’s this wild-eyed freedom that you experience after walking away from a meeting with someone trying to be your adversary. Instead of self recriminations or wondering why nothing seems to go your way, while being drenched in a cortisol sweat that would rival Niagara Falls, you just keep calm and carry on. It’s the most weirdly liberating feeling in the whole world.

And then all of a sudden, but very slowly at first, you find yourself standing back in the land of your life’s dreams. Things that seemed out of reach fall into your lap, and you speak even though your voice is shaking.

For the last week of July/first few days of August, my goal was to post my creative pieces for 3 days in a row. Didn’t matter what platform, or if anyone saw it, because it’s for my own dang self. It’s like taking old muscle memories and putting them to better use. The next phase of this whole Phoenix Phase is to write something here every day. It doesn’t have to be perfect, and I won’t be looking at my stats. Because, really, life is too short of worrying what others have to say about who you are.

With that, dear readers, please feel free to hold me accountable. Nobody is above having a little nudge from time to time.

Thank you for being here, and for walking alongside me. I love each and every one of you with all my being.
~ KEU