I was maybe five or six the first and only time my mom told me to clean my room. I didn’t like it at all. Not for the reasons you may think. It was because I didn’t like being seen in this way. A mess. I suppose I just loved her so much, I wanted her to see the best of me. And she was right. This wasn’t my best. Bed undone. Clothes on the floor. I knew, even then, what this space was for. My room to create. I needed this space to gather all my feelings on paper. And she knew it too. The space to make sense of all the things we were feeling, this would save us. Saves me still. It and I became clear, as she smiled from the doorway.

I didn’t have the words for it then. And certainly not the French words. But I hear them. Daily. “Ma raison d’être.” My reason for being.

This is what I’m making space for. A clear path to feel it all. A way for everything to get in. For everything to get through. Because as hard as it is sometimes, I do want to feel it. All of it. I think that’s why I’m here. My reason for being. To feel it and capture it with words and paint. To unclutter the path so we can all make our way…together.

Sometimes one of you will pick out a few words, a phrase from the daily post, and walk it back to me. This is my mother’s smile from a path made clear, and I know, I’m exactly where, who, I’m supposed to be. I’m smiling too.