She Was Becoming Visible

Joy is asleep on my shoulder as I write this.

Not joy the feeling.

Joy the tortie.

She's snoring softly, completely unconcerned with my existential revelations.

Buddy is stretched across the back of the couch, looking out the window with one eye and falling asleep with the other.

This morning I realized something.

For years, I've been trying to figure out what I want to create.

Or at least that's the story I've told myself.

But after a conversation I had recently, I'm not sure that's true.

I was reminded there have been many attempts at creating exactly what I am creating now.

I didn't yet have the language for it yet.

The vision existed before the vocabulary.

Not because everything is figured out.

Not because I know exactly what comes next.

But because I recognized the path.

The journalist.

The correspondent.

The storyteller.

The collector of field notes.

The woman who has always been fascinated by ordinary life and the meaning hidden inside it.

She wasn't lost.

She was becoming visible.