Sometimes, I feel like I am everything for everyone else, and there is little left for me. I spend my days wearing many hats, teacher, mother, wife, friend, sister, daughter... with little luxury to be just me. I have dreams and aspirations of living a creative life, but they remain locked away in a prison of fear. If only I could silence the imposter and release the artist…

This must be what stepping foot on the moon for the first time feels like. Euphoric. Surreal. A moment so monumental, so extraordinary, that words almost feel unworthy of describing it. If asked to articulate it, I find myself grasping at metaphors, a mere mortal undeserving of such power.

I wish I knew how to bottle this feeling. This rare, intoxicating flow is a high unlike any other (though, full disclosure, my experience in that realm is limited—my wildest trip was an Ambien-induced hallucination, never again).

Nonetheless, I did a thing. I pressed the button. And now it’s real.