I write every day. And here’s why without AI: I write for myself. I write to find myself, to figure out what I think, to understand who I am and how I fit in this world. Only I have access to my writer’s heart, my inner Google app. No AI can help me do that work.
The peace of all-will-be-well comes back to me through open windows of April and October, dancing on birdsong and fresh air, as fleeting as the perfect seasons of Louisiana but as sure and healing as the morning sun.
How long have you been juggling life without taking a breather? Imagine taking it. That’s a good way to begin.
None of my labyrinths are perfect, but I’m not striving for perfection. All of my labyrinths have taken me in, centered me, even when center is north of middle or tucked away in a corner. I leave a labyrinth more present and less afraid of the path before me.
Whether I crush the obstacle, crawl under or over it, or walk away from it, I am enough. And I deserve the good things.
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