Author’s Notes:

In my twenties, life was a fertile field of optimistic potential. My creative dreams may not be achievable due to constraints of money, but my potential seemed unbounded given enough time.

But as the years pressed on, the progress of adulthood demanded a different landscape. To provide, to survive, and to build a stable home, I had to plow down and pave those wild spaces for the practical existence of a money-earning career.

My hobbies of composing music, shooting photos, writing poetry, or making art sprouted up now and then, but never really to bloom.

Eventually, by age 50, I looked around and realized my wild inner world of creativity had been choked out by the industry of running my own business while slogging through chronic illness.

Joy had fallen dormant. My heart had become cemented out of necessity to get through each day.

But the erosion of time and the tempests of life, while wearing us down, also have a way of eroding our defenses. And that can actually bring freedom. For me, the limits of chronic illness have revealed how precious time is, and not to waste the moments I feel well enough to pursue joy. The pressure of life has cracked open a desire to create music, poetry, photography and art. Those younger dreams, though dormant, are sprouting green again.

The difference at this age is that I have 30 more years of perspective on life. So as I create, the “blooms” of my poetry and music feel more meaningful, more nuanced, deeper, and more fragrant.