I chose art, or maybe art chose me. And everyday I am consumed by it. I wake up underneath my orange quilt my mom made me, and in a room with the walls covered. Covered with oddities and paintings–a rubber sting ray, prints of Monet and some of my own paintings. I take time to pick an outfit, I like the colors to look good, I like textures, I like feeling like a composition. I go through my day feeling good, smiling at people I make eye contact with. And even sometimes on my best days, I feel a glow or energy boiling under my skin, making me feel confidant. Making me feel like I can do anything. But often times I feel isolated or scared. During those moments of silence, where even my art can’t keep me company, I feel lost. Im scared that I am not good enough, that people aren’t interested in my art, that they never will be. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make a living off of my art. I don’t know if one day it will become just a hobby, just something I do sometimes. But on those day where the glow lies beneath my skin I feel lucky. And right now in this very uncertain time, I will focus on that.