What defines someone to be lucky?

Lucky the work found people. Lucky the doors keep opening. Lucky, like it fell out of the sky and landed on me.

Luck was a camera I picked up in the hardest year of my life, because a brush felt too exposed. It was making work around two girls and the everyday chaos, long before anyone was watching. The emails that went nowhere. The pieces I almost didn't release. The Tuesdays in the studio with no proof any of it would matter.

That's the part nobody posts.

Luck has a surface area. The more of you that is out in the world, the more there is for it to land on. Every piece you finish and actually show people, every room you walk into, every message you send, is more surface.

The ones who look lucky are usually the ones who stayed visible long enough to be found. In motion. In the room. In the water.

For eighteen years my days were built around being needed in one particular way for my girls, for my role as a mother, and now there's a new kind of room in front of me. Bigger. A little scary. Which is usually how I know it's the right one.

So I'm saying yes. To more rooms, and more of the work out in the world.

Lucky for some? Sure.

Ready?

DX