My attempt at looking for beauty in a workout, and finding it in a strong robust body along the way.

I realized it was poetry month, when it was basically over.
Poetic.

I hope one day I can reach some sort of peace that lets me think about death without finding it profoundly stupid.

I am a planner. I make lists, I make calls, I create calendar events, and reminders, and notes, and whatever else you can think of. I worry, I wonder, and I try to the best of my ability to avoid unknowns. Unfortunately life has other plans.

I wasn’t smarter before and I’m not that wise now. But I am here. In this singular moment, doing the best I can to understand myself. Making choices, making changes, making plans, because I am finally excited to get older again.

I used to think of creative movement as something propelled by inspiration. This swift feeling, parting the clouds, showing you the way. Of course it isn't. We've all read all the think pieces about it. We all know it's not gonna come down spontaneously. And yet we wait for it. Sadly it's in vain.