I’ve started packing in my head for our upcoming travels. Making outfits in my head. Which shoes will go with most? Is this coat warm enough? Should I bring the hair oil, or buy it there? I know one thing for certain, I will make room for my sketchbook. In any and all uncertainty, it reminds me of who I am.

I’ve been doing it since I was five years old. On days when nothing made sense, it was sure. Not perfect. No. Never any pressure for perfection. Just being. A capturing of moments when it was simply ok to be myself.

I see it now. As I watch my chubby hands of youth presenting it to my mom. Holding it out as a question — Will you love me like this? With all of my imperfections. Lines that don’t quite match up. Colors out of sync. Beyond the scribbles, will you see me? The answer was always a resounding yes.

And when she looked back at me. Eyebrows up. Hands on my shoulders. I knew she was telling me to ask the same of myself. Insisting that it wasn’t just important to love yourself, but knowing that you had to. You have to!

I’m not saying it comes easily. Good things rarely do. So I practice. I work out the mistakes. I tremble and try. I turn the page and begin again. Perhaps not as proof, but certainly as possibility, and maybe that’s as close as we need to come – in life and love. So I remind myself. I remind you. With eyebrows raised and hands grasping your shoulders, I ask you, will you, to believe.