I am made of humble beginnings and tiny satisfactions. I reserve a special spot in my periphery for the steam from a cup of good coffee, the way a body of water clings to waning sunlight, the faded pages of a really old book, and the pool of ink on a page when my thoughts come to a halt.
I grew up with the melody of stringed instruments and the aroma of coffee bubbling over in the evening. I am made of people who made everything from nothing, who grew and ground their own spices and pressed their own olive oil. The ruins of an ancient city flow through my blood, and every day the dust wakes me up and reminds me to start rebuilding.
I crave creation. I am made of the strong women who challenge me, the long hours that hone me, the travels that inspire me, and the doubts that remind me that there is always more to discover. I want always to be wanting, to be insatiable.