The last couple of years have kicked my ass. I’ve found myself face down in the dirt more than once. And instead of pushing against the edges of the perimeters of sharing what is vulnerable I decided to play it safe. My boundaries have shifted but I still have a story to tell. A story about busted lips and stepping in shit. A story about yellow leaves and pink sunsets. A story about making magic, bending time, and practicing patience. A story about what it means to be human. I’m still not sure where my boundaries lay and I most certainly don’t have a clear strategy or editorial calendar for this space … but here’s what I know for sure: I find meaning in sharing who I am, and writing about my life helps me shape who I want to become. So here I am. I still have a story to tell.