Found: The Stories We Carry in Fragments

On my desk sits a simple dish. Inside: shells from a shoreline walk, a few river-smoothed stones, and wooden letters that spell a single word — FOUND.

At first glance, it is nothing more than a small collection. Yet when I pause and look more closely, I realize: this dish is a mosaic of my own becoming.

Your story is not just your own. It is part of a vast tapestry, woven with threads from generations before you and generations yet to come.

There is something fierce and tender that happens when a woman remembers she is creative.

An art journal is never just paper and paint. It is a sanctuary. A container for memory, imagination, and possibility.

There is a rhythm to becoming—one that does not rush, one that cannot be forced. It moves through shadow, glimmers, thresholds, and light, carrying us deeper into ourselves with every step.

This is what I call The Soulful Journey.

The Soulful Journey wasn’t something I dreamed up at a desk—it was something that rose up to meet me when I needed it most.

I was standing in a season of questions. A season of shadow, of uncertainty, of searching for words that didn’t yet exist. I longed for a way to make sense of the silence, to find meaning in the waiting, to see beauty even in the ache.