How do I know I am doing what I am supposed to be doing? That this idea of being creative isn’t just an image of who I want to be but who I actually am. 

So I sit quietly. Who was I before the world described me. Before teachers and authoritarians boxed us in. Before technologically blurred the lines.  Who were we. 

My earliest childhood memory of my being a wonderer. A creative.  A dreamer.  Was when I would simply sit next to my mother with a piece of paper and ask her “Mom, tell me what to write about.” And it was up to her to give me a topic that I would bring to life with words on paper.  Those moments led to boxes of journals.  And composition books of poetry.  

That was followed up with reading and exploring books and authors. 

Then came dancing.  Being taught to dance but then exploring choreography and musicians.  Making costumes to reflect the mood of a performance. Producing shows to culminate the moment. 

Oh but then travel.  And travel meant photography. Naturally. And then scrapbooks of images. 

Every creative starts with some level of curiosity and through the act of exploring, finds the tools to create. Creating what they have seen and want to see.  Documenting their experiences or bringing to light those of others.    

Pens. Journals.  Music. Cameras.  Those are my tools. 

I think my only regret will be, if I don’t use my tools more. 

So today, I think.  Am I where I am supposed to be.  And I think back to my first camera, poem, and choreographed piece. That costume.  The stage. The first time I used my camera in a foreign country. I relax in my choices.  And then ask myself this time; what story do you want to tell today?