What people see are externals; physical attributes, profiles and position, passions and power—
or lack thereof.
People see actions and assume motivation;
people see doubt and assume weakness. What people see is not me.
I am more than my package, more than my history, more than my gifts, and
I need to be listened to.
I shouldn’t need validation, but how do I know I really exist if I don’t hear back from the universe I walk in?
Reading alone in a window seat, viewing nature from my perch, writing poetry and capturing all I see in drawings and photos, words that rhyme—I used to think that would be enough. It would be like playing cello on a deck in a wild, ethereal Alaskan wood—no one listening except the trees and sky and creatures hidden from view. Mystic communion with the world.
Romantic nonsense.
Contemplation is preparation—not enough just as…
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Apronhead 