Don't be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.” ~ Rumi

We already know.

Marta Spendowska

My grandmother never used a thermometer for bread. She pressed her wrist to the dough the way you’d press it to a feverish child’s forehead. A deliberate gesture, a reading. Too warm, too cool, just right. She had made bread long enough that the knowledge lived on the surface — in the skin — bones — in past generations, not in any instrument.

I think about this every time I agonize over a decision.

Here is what I have observed about the people I know who proclaim they are lost.

They have read all the books. They have taken all the courses. They have saved all the bookmarks, made the spreadsheets, consulted the frameworks, ritualized their mornings, watched every sunrise only to stay pale, color-coded the spreadsheets to only tire their eyes, and asked everyone they know for an opinion. They are drowning in information.

What they lack is the [...]

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There is a version of me you have seen — the work on the walls, the images that travel through screens, the artist who shows up, who makes, who shares. That version is real. But it is also incomplete.

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