Some mornings I wake up, look in the mirror and wonder who I've become. I want to know that I'm heading in the right direction. That the person I've become is one that I can be proud of, that I'm making the right choices. For some reason, that can be hard to be sure of. I will say, in some small forms, I found something closely resembling those feelings of certainty, a small feeling of hope that you are right where you need to be.

I feel it mostly when I go through old photos and videos, read old journal entries, listen to my parents, talk about me to relatives. In those moments, I feel as though I'm able to step out of this painting of life and for once reside somewhere in between being the painting and the painter. Observing, self, examining, learning, realizing that this painting is not as bad as I thought.

Yes, it's messy outside the lines filled with eraser marks and scribbles, and yet from a few steps back, it's not as terrible as I make it out to be. In fact, it's worthwhile because it's honest and true. And maybe that's better than being certain. Better than being perfect. To know that these feelings are real, that I am human, and that there is and will always be room to grow.

This painting is anything but finished, and that may just be the best part about it.