I left the house in the perfect 5 pm sunlight after self doubts and self criticisms. The same self depreciation got so boring that I dashed onto my bike and into this light that made me feel just that: light.
I smiled my way past a sunny yellow house, passed an old mayan man on a too small kid’s bike and stood on my pedals as I entered the bumpy, dusty dirt road that connects my neighborhood to the other side of town and marks my shortest route to the studio, Tribal.
Just in front of me in the cloud of dust that a pickup had lifted walked a voluptuously heavy woman in a tight leopard pattern skirt and black jean jacket who had that ever so wonderful “I don’t give a damn” sexy ownership of all of her. I found myself once again in love with this culture that says “Here I am and I am more than enough”, no matter how fat or skinny or if they have dirt floors or no car, old pants and hand me down shoes. I love this culture because it says I am more than enough and I have more than enough and I will have a good time and make do with all that I have. Because this could be my last day on this earth – and don’t you even dare tell me it couldn’t – and I will live like I have it all.
Because I do.