• Lydia Thomas

Terra Incognita

If you catch me on a good day, I'll romanticize the unknown - the thrill of being surprised by whatever I'll see at the top of this hill or around the next bend.

On a good day, I'm adventurous and optimistic.

Even on a challenging day, averse to change and the unfamiliar, I can admit: I've experienced the best kind of breath-taking moments because I've embraced the unknown.

But I can also see - in sharp relief - the worst kind of breath-taking moments: those moments of agony when I alternate between screaming silently and hyperventilating with never-ending tears streaming down my face, when no one would enter into my pain even if they could, the pain of being reminded from every quarter that I took a leap of faith and chose the unknown over the familiar, and I have earned every cubic inch of the darkness I'm facing.

Those moments I cannot romanticize.

They're dehumanizing.



I'm never sure if I'm going to make it out of them alive.

The best thing I can say about them is that I have made it through every single one of those moments that I have faced alive. Somehow, in the darkest moments of my life, I have collected my courage, grit, resilience, and strength - often that I didn't even realize I had - and pressed through until I found the light and color again.

I'm not sure I should even share this here; after all, isn't my work supposed to be all about experimentation and the color, uniqueness and whimsy that comes from it?

Truth is, the experimentation - like life's various adventures - isn't always playful and fun. I'd be dishonest with you if I made it seem like it was.

Truth is - sometimes - it's dark and scary and you can only hope you make it through, Truth is - sometimes - the only beauty is that - against all odds - you persist, that you keep bringing all the good you bring to the world, and that you embrace the colorful, one-of-a-kind, and whimsical wherever and however it finds you.

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