My feet led me further. In a small room towards the back, obscured by view until I neared closer, was one of her spiders. My heart was bursting. As I crept closer, tears started to form. I had never seen one of her spiders, and had always wanted to. I’d seen pictures, but to stand in its presence took the breath from my lungs. I stood in this space, which felt small compared to the scale of the spider, and cried softly. I wiped the tears away as a mother and her small daughter entered the space briefly, and left just as quickly, not realizing that they were in the presence of greatness. I looked back at the spider and took a deep breath. “You are why I am here today.” A miracle.

Today, I spent the morning painting a dollhouse and staring at this jewelry box. A dear friend of mine popped her head into the studio, and we got into a very absorbing, inspiring conversation about what jewelry boxes mean to girls; how they hold expectation of who we’re supposed to grow up into. We talked about my dad and how I want to reconcile my anger, guilt and grief, and make an object that my childhood self would have cherished. We went through these old family photos I had at my studio, discussed the idea of transferring them onto fabric, and imagined all the many different ways I could incorporate them into this jewelry box. We got chills, we teared up a little, we laughed, we had a great hug, and we said goodbye. Then I very impulsively drove to Best Buy and bought a printer.

I am trying to become the person I’ve always dreamt I’d be. I am trying to be less hard on myself, and to be more gentle. I am trying to walk to my art studio every day, to get out of the house and paint a little, even on the days where all I want to do is lay in bed with my cat. I am trying.