The Crossroads of Academia
My father, a practical man, regarded me with a long and thoughtful expression when, after two years of diligent wandering through the halls of academia, I was at last required to declare my main course of study. Up until that point, my university transcripts read like a map of an explorer who refused to settle on a single continent. I had found delight in many pursuits—psychology, art history, philosophy, and many other disciplines that seemed to invite curiosity more than certainty. I collected ideas the way others collect souvenirs, captivated by the sheer breadth of options.
In the end, when the clock ran down and a choice became mandatory, I chose not according to ambition, nor according to prudence, but according to where my affections and accumulated credits had most faithfully led me: English Literature.
It is perhaps no great betrayal to admit that my father received this decision with little enthusiasm. He was a man understandably concerned with such earthly, tangible matters as stability, employment, and livelihood. To him, books were a solace, but not a foundation for a career. Yet I also know his concern was deeply rooted in a wish for my long-term safety in an unpredictable world.
My mother, by contrast, was my steadfast supporter from the beginning. She encouraged my pursuit of the arts in whatever form they took, seeing a spark in my creative endeavors that I was often too timid to recognize. She offered a steadier, more resilient faith in my inclinations than I often had in myself, acting as the wind at my back when my own confidence faltered.
I carry their contrasting influences with me still—my father’s grounding caution and my mother’s boundless encouragement and hope. In this digital space, which serves as a new chapter in my life, I wish to offer a public word of thanks to them both. They gave me all that they could while I had them. Though familial relationships are complex, I remain eternally grateful to have been blessed with them as my parents. I hope, in some manner beyond sight and across the veil of time, they know this still.
The Long Intermission
My life took an unexpected turn, leading to an intermission of nearly nine years in my publishing life. A severe chronic illness gradually carried me away from the daily work and creative rhythms I loved. The vibrant world I had built around words art and nature slowed to a crawl. I continued to write in the quiet spaces when I was physically able, wrestling with sentences in the margins of fatigue and pain. However, the sharp cognitive and creative faculties upon which I had always relied no longer served me as they once had. As a result, many stories remained unwritten, locked away in the mind, or at least unpublished.
During those challenging years, the focus of my creativity shifted from the page to the body. I devoted myself fully to the long, grueling, and often humbling labor of trying to regain some measure of health and physical function. It was a time marked by isolation, patience, and the slow dismantling of who I thought I was.
I cannot claim to have returned from that wilderness unchanged; perhaps none of us do after passing through such transformative fires. The person writing this today is different from the person who stepped away. Yet, I am profoundly grateful to have regained enough of my health, clarity, and true self to begin sharing my stories with the world once more. To recover even a part of one’s creativity after years of fearing it permanently lost is a gift beyond measure. I am filled gratitude to have found a vital piece of myself again, sitting right where I left it, waiting to be rekindled.
Companions Along the Way
Throughout those dark and stationary years, animals remained my daily joy and most steadfast companions. Their grace, presence, and uncomplicated love provided a mirror of comfort when human words fell short.
As a lifelong animal advocate, my home and my heart have always been open to those without a voice. Over the years, I have spent much of my time traveling slowly with a rotating, ever-changing cast of foster animals.
Predictably, many of these fosters became permanent fixtures of my life, choosing me just as much as I chose them. They carried me through the heaviest years of illness and profound isolation. They did not care about my accomplishments or my productivity; they cared only for presence. Today, they continue to make every new destination feel more like home.
The Journey Forward
And so, here I am today. The road has been neither straight nor easy, but it has brought me to this exact page. I am still creating art, still writing, and still actively searching for beauty, imagination, and a deeper understanding of this strange, marvelous human experience.
This website and this blog are the fruits of that survival and renewal. I am profoundly grateful to be able to share that journey, and these unfolding stories, with you once again. Thank you for being here, for reading, and for walking a little way down the path with me.
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