Threading the Needle
I have lived a happy life. I grew up in the rural outskirts of a small city on the Gulf Coast of Louisiana. I was surrounded by a loving family in a beautiful home that my father built with his own hands. Both of my parents are creators and instilled in me the confidence to make anything I want. Always an artist, I spent many an afternoon after school digging up clay from the yard to create small sculptures left to dry on the porch rail in the sun (much to my mother’s dismay). I have often felt guilty when friends or coworkers talk about their troubled childhoods or strained relationships with parents who don’t support their creative endeavors. Though my family didn’t have much money, I never doubted their love or support. Indeed, a sense of home, a safe place to retreat, has never been something I questioned. You see, my familial ties to Louisiana go back many generations. Southern roots run deep and the only thing that has pulled me away from the security of a loving family is my desire to travel and explore. I left my home in Lake Charles over ten years ago never imagining that anywhere else would feel as much like home or that there would come a time that it would not be there when I needed it.