I choose, from this day forward, to do more with my hands. They have always been most apt to sit firmly between my crossed thighs, where I keep them warm (for they are more often than not cold) or off finding some imperfection on my skin to habitually pick at. I will be sure that by each day’s end, there is paint or dirt under my fingernails from making art and growing life.

I choose, from this day forward, to use my voice as the intricate and complex weapon that it should serve against my own imperfections, and write words to express and break down my depression and my anxiety. Words, both spoken and written, will serve not only to make my mental heath better, but to speak out against the many injustices that plague a silent society. I will be sure that my each days end, my voice quivers on the edge of breaking.

I choose, from this day forward, to be less cautious. I talk myself out of things and in doing so, lose opportunities or -more devastatingly- people. I am naturally inclined to adventure while at the same time being indecisive and taking the easy way out. I will be sure that more “no’s” turn into more “yes’s”.