My car knew the way. Before all of my creative work began, my morning routine was coffee, bank, post office, UPS. I barely remember turning the wheel before arriving at each place. And it wasn’t from not paying attention. It was the softness of simply knowing. 

I know the value. The importance of reaching this state of being. But sometimes I forget. In the traffic of chaos. I forget that my heart is the car. My hands are the wheel. And I know how to get there. I’ve always known. The key is just not to fight it. 

She arrived so gently yesterday on the page. As if she knew. No hard lines or edges. And I could feel my shoulders drop. A loose grip on the brush. And that calm that was called for, settled, pillowed, and I was home.