My First Kejimkujik National Park Experience

I am ashamed to say that my trip to Keji this past August was actually my first time there. However, that wasn’t the part that had me nervous and anxious about the trip. I’m Canadian, I’m from Nova Scotia. We have so many lakes and rivers perfect for canoeing, but that’s the thing. I’d never really been canoeing.

The only time I can recall ever being in a canoe, I would have been 8 or 9 years old. I was on a little weekend trip with my Dad to a bluegrass festival. The spot where we were camping was on a lake, and they had canoes. We weren’t all that far from shore when we tipped. I can’t remember the situation, whose fault it was. All I remember is suddenly being in cold water and not being very pleased about it.

Since then, I think it’s been a combination of not having many opportunities to go canoeing, and also DEFINITELY not seeking canoeing adventure opportunities. It hasn’t been this haunting thing for me, but I always feel a little sheepish when people find out that I’d never really been on a canoe trip.

So there was that. My mild childhood fear of being in a canoe. Still, Matt and I booked our amazing campsite on Peskawesk Lake when the booking opened back in January. I was so excited for this trip. It was many months of anticipation, and imagining what it would be like, portaging from lake to lake. Then once the trip was near, and we really started to plan things like food, and departure times, etc. Matt thought it was a good time to mention how rocky a lot of the lakes are, and how you really need to watch for them so you don’t get high-centred or tip. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Funny joke, Matt! (Hint: He wasn’t joking)

It had been the driest summer in as long as I can remember. Even as long as the “older generation” can remember. Wells were going dry, etc. So, of course, my mind is thinking about the lake, and how that’s probably down on water, too. Thinking of how many more rocks these dry conditions will expose. BARF.

Anyway, So we get to Kejimkujik on the evening of Friday, August 17th, canoe in tow. We were invited to partake in the Kejimkujik Loon Watch survey, so we first went to the office to get our assigned lakes, and check them out on the map. From there, we got set up at our campsite reserved in the front country. Sunny, beautiful temperatures, but there was some heavy rain in the forecast. Up early on Saturday morning. Had some breakfast, got packed up and cleaned up, then headed to meet our guide before take off. We were able to drive to our launch point, but by the time we got there, it was already raining pretty heavily. We had a long series of portages ahead of us in less than ideal weather, and it was forecasted to only get worse, and continue into the following day. Our gracious guide offered to drive us, and all our gear, into a launch point much closer to our campsite. We happily accepted the offer. The drive in on the park ranger access road was narrow, wet and muddy. Lots of overhanging Hemlock branches to try to swipe your canoe, so we had to be mindful of that. The more we drove, the harder it rained, and the wind was starting to pick up. I started to imagine how choppy the lakes would be, and I started to get a bit anxious.

We got to the launch point that was just tucked around a little cove from our campsite destination. It would have been a very short paddle, but I think the guide was feeling bad for us. Feeling bad that we were going to have to paddle with all our gear, get soaked to the bone, and then have to set up a tent and campsite in a torrential downpour. We were just thankful for the drive in that far, and felt that the rain was all part of the experience. Then her map came out, she started firing off different options and scenarios, tracing routes on the map with her index finger. The thing about all the routes she was suggesting, was that it was much further into the backcountry than we initially planned to go, which meant more paddling. However, when the words “warden’s cabin” came from her mouth, Matt and I both perked up. Not only were we getting this super cool backstage pass drive virtually right to our campsite, but we were now given the opportunity to stay in a historic warden’s cabin that’s pretty much as old as the park itself. She was pretty certain that the cabin wasn’t already spoken for, but she radioed in to confirm. That was that, we continued on towards a warden’s cabin on Peskawa Lake. We got dropped off at a boat launch with the canoe and all of our gear, and literally had to paddle maybe 800m to the rocky point that the cabin is on.

When we pulled up, I felt super fortunate for this chance to ease into the canoeing aspect of the trip. Not only that, but to have a roof over my head that night. We walked up to the cabin and realized that it had a screened in porch. Bonus! The guide came and unlocked the cabin for us, and gave us a rundown of all the rules and how everything worked. We thanked her for this amazing backstage pass, and she was gone. Matt and I hauled all our gear up from the shore and into the screened porch. First thing – crack a blackberry Bulwark Cider. Then we rigged up a clothesline, hung up our wet clothes, and changed into something dry. We had a bite to eat and had a lazy afternoon in the cabin. The rain had cooled things off, and when the sun went down, I suggested a fire in the woodstove. Matt got the fire going and we ate dinner with the front door wide open. Just after dinner, we were sitting around planning our Loon Watch for the next morning, when we started to hear that familiar sound from across the lake. Loons calling to each other in the night. What an amazing sound. The whole scenario was so perfect. The rain finally letting up a bit, the fire going, the fresh air coming in through the front door, the darkness outside, and the sound of the loons made it pretty magical.

No issues sleeping that night. The next morning, I was a bit bummed to see that it was still raining a bit, and there was a bit of wind. I was not really looking forward to the hour paddle to our first portage. We had a slow morning, had blueberry pancakes and loads of coffee. Then we packed up our things, got the canoe loaded down, and set out in search for loons and towards our campsite on Peskawesk Lake.

The rocks. Oh my god, the rocks. The wind and the rain didn’t make them any easier to spot, and being in the front of the canoe, I was the spotter. The potty-mouthed rock spotter. It was such a gross feeling in the pit of my stomach, to look down and see a massive rock, not even a foot below the surface. The f-bombs were flying fast and frequent. Seeing them, that’s one thing, but to actually go over one and hear/feel it graze the bottom of the canoe was awful for me. On one occasion, we actually got hung up on a huge rock, and Matt had to wiggle and shimmy us off. F-bombs flying from the front of the boat. We did see some Loons, though.

When we finally made it to the portage, I was thankful to get my feet back on the ground, if only for a short time. The next launch wasn’t far, but you could see the next portage from there, so it wasn’t super anxiety inducing. Then a longer hike to the next launch, a rocky start, but no loons spotted on the backside of Peskawesk Lake. A windy hour or so paddle to our campsite. Still grey and overcast, but at least the rain had stopped. We landed on the sandy beach of our dreamy campsite, I french kissed the ground again, and we got set up. We then realized that we had to canoe to get firewood, but it was only a short distance. Once we got loaded up on firewood, we got a fire going and some dinner on the go. The sunset that evening was lovely, and I was already starting to feel sad about having to leave the following day.

The next morning, after breakfast, coffee, and packing up, we saw what we thought was a family of loons. Parents and one chick. We watched them swim and dive in front of our campsite, and later saw them fly over the island we were camping on. We got to our first portage on the trek out, and looked back towards our campsite. We counted seven loons on the water, it was an amazing sight to see. That, and hearing them be so vocal was pretty neat. I had never seen so many loons in one place, at one time. It was almost as if they were bidding us a farewell, it was cool.

It was a choppy ride out across Mountain Lake, but I was distracted by the intense concentration on my paddling. Plus, there were a few eagle sightings, and a close encounter with a ticked off Red Tailed Hawk. We saw a few deer, too!

When we arrived at our final portage, I was excited for this longer hike. Not so much because I was on solid ground, but because I had heard lots about this “hardwood carry” part of the trip. I was eager to be surrounded by huge stands of old growth forest. Stands of big trees that you literally will not find anywhere else in the province. Trees you can’t fit your arms around. Trees that Matt and I could barely get both of our arms around. I can’t help but feel so elated in magical places like that. It was definitely a highlight of the trip. It also made me sad to think that all of Nova Scotia’s forests once resembled the kind of forest within Kejimkujik National Park.

We got to our final paddle, encountered a few canoers on their way into the backcountry from which we had just came. It was nice to be able to enquire on the conditions ahead, and I’m sure they felt the same. There were a few rocky heart attacks on the way back to my truck at the Eel Weir take-out, so I was extra glad when my feet hit the ground that final time. I knew it was over, I knew I had made it back in one piece and unscathed.

Was I an anxious, potty-mouthed, sweaty, nervous mess the entire time I was in that beautiful cedar canvas canoe? You bet your sweet ass I was.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat! However, I can’t promise that I will be able to censor myself, because I can’t say for certain that canoeing will ever be something I’m fully comfortable and confident in. The thing is, is that I did it. I was terrified to do something, and I did it anyway, and I think proving yourself wrong is a good thing at times. Especially when you push past your own self-doubt and prove how capable you are. Am I a pro paddler now? No, but I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and I had a wonderful time, and a great first canoe trip, and a great first Kejimkujik National Park experience!

Go With Your Gut

I’m a female that partakes in several male dominated sports, and works in a mainly male dominated industry. I have, a time or two, experienced the wrath of the superior male. My ankles have been bitten by the herd of sheep, both men and women, that closely follow. I have felt hushed, silenced and alienated when trying to give my opinion or share my thoughts on a topic that I am passionate about. It can be really intimidating, and very discouraging.

Passion is an emotion. I’m human. I feel things. So, sue me.

I grew up Anglican. My mom taught Sunday School at our church. I was in the choir. I have some embarrassing photos of myself as a child, dressed as the star of Bethlehem in the church Christmas play. I was raised well. My mom is a saint. I often try to think of what she would do in certain situations before making a decision. However, I also have a father that raised me not to take any shit off anyone, male or female. To stand my ground, and fight for what you believe is right.

Nowadays, I’m not much of a churchgoer. I may go on Christmas Eve, but that’s a big maybe. I have gone through some shit in my life that has really changed me, and I believe it’s been for the better. I don’t seek answers or solace in religion, I never did. Over the years, I found that it was always nature that I would turn to. I started hiking, I bought a motorcycle, I started target shooting with my little 10/22 Ruger. Those things were all a lot of fun, but somewhat seasonal. Over the winter of 2013, after my endless complaints of boredom, my friend suggested that I try tying flies. From that, my obsession snowballed to fly fishing itself, to backcountry camping, partridge hunting, whitetail deer hunting, and most recently archery. When you immerse yourself that deeply into nature, you can’t help but want to protect it.

Since success in fly fishing and hunting heavily rely on weather conditions, it’s hard to deny the fact that the Earth is in a constant state of change and evolution. Environmental turmoil is a better way to put it. As both a hunter and angler, I am constantly being made painfully aware of the bad place we are in, and hurtling towards. I am quickly learning it is us, as hunters, anglers and residents of Planet Earth, that have to change our lifestyles and plans of pursuit to accommodate nature.

Nature does not owe us any accommodations. Remember that.

It’s the sport that must evolve to compensate for these drastic environmental changes to ensure that our resources are kept as healthy, and as safe as they can be.

As a woman, I feel like we are generally more sensitive to the needs of others. Therefore, I think it’s only natural that female hunters and anglers are more caring and compassionate in regards to their quarry. If you’re a hunter or an angler that doesn’t strictly practise catch and release angling, how the animal or fish is treated in death is just as important as their quality of life. I cried after my first successful partridge hunt. I cried because I was happy, and I cried because I had just taken a life. I don’t take this kind of thing lightly.

I’m not new to these touchy subjects. I openly voice my opinions on the current state of our forests, and consequently, our rivers and oceans. I speak freely about the proper handling of fish, if you are practising catch and release. Also speaking out with my thoughts on using an abrasive cotton glove to tail, and handle Atlantic Salmon and Brook Trout in the Eastern provinces. I am a relentless broken record, repeating over and over about the consequences and seriousness of fishing in high water temperatures and poor water quality. I passed up on a shot at a nice little 4-point buck during my first deer season because it didn’t feel right, and I have taken shit for all of these opinions. Mainly from these dominant “superior” males and their sheepish following. Which actually helps to tighten up your inner circle, in reality. 

The longer you’re involved in the sport, the better you will get to know the others involved. You gain a better understanding of which crowds to distance yourself from, the ones that expect nature to accommodate their need for a wall-mount or grip and grin fishing photo, yet expect the resource to remain plentiful. You’ll learn to read people and know who to gravitate towards. The ones that accommodate nature in her times of need, and they are many.

Go with your gut.

I recently took the international bow hunter’s training course, and in that course they talked about choosing your own code of ethics, and sticking to them. To preach them, and to instill those morals and values in those around you, and the next generation of hunters and anglers.

Social media followers, likes and sponsorships have their time and place, but don’t get lost in the hype and pursuit of instant gratification. They should not come at the cost of the very resources that sustain us.

This means sometimes you don’t fish, sometimes you don’t pull the trigger, and sometimes you don’t release the arrow.

Speak up about the issues that set fire to your soul.

Follow your heart.

Go with your gut.

Love Levels

What level of love do you require?
To rid you of doubt and soothe your desire?

The love that you seek should take you higher,
Not leave you empty as you drown in the mire.

What level of love do you aspire to acquire?
A love so great it sets you on fire?
A love so pure it will never expire?

You need the answers, but I’m not for hire.

Ask yourself this; What level of love do I require?

Things I Learned in Northern Cape Breton the Second Time Around.

I didn’t have as much time to anticipate, mentally prepare, and worry about my most recent three day backpacking trip in Northern Cape Breton. Last time I made the trek in, I had months to prepare and overpack. (HA!) This time around, I had about a week and a half to get my act together.

That really puts the pressure on.

Living in a very rural part of Nova Scotia, you don’t have the luxuries of running down to the local outdoor store and picking up all the things you need. The rural life forces you to plan out the most basic tasks weeks, even months in advance. I hear a lot of people talking about planning their next trip to Halifax to go to Costco, etc. My plan of attack isn’t much different, except the fact that my “city to-do list” looks more like: MEC, Patagonia Halifax, Atmosphere, eat some good food (usually The Coastal) and peace tha eff out. I often feel bad about how little notice I give and how brief my trips to Halifax are. I have lots of friends up there that I’d love to see, but usually my trips to the city are in preparation to disconnect from civilization for extended periods of time. It’s nothing personal, I’m just not a city girl. I find it makes me feel claustrophobic and I usually go into Halifax with a “get in and get out” kind of mentality.

So, I make the two and a half hour trip, and I make my rounds around the city. I stop in at Patagonia, saw some familiar faces! Surprisingly, I didn’t buy anything. First time for everything! From there, I went to MEC. All their employees are so eager to help you. It’s awesome. I found all the things I needed, with the help of staff, and I hit the road back towards the woods.

I slowly started rounding up all my gear and placing it in a pile in the living room. Bit by bit, a little more every day leading up to the trip. The night before we were set to depart, Matt and I went through our gear together and weaned out the stuff we did not need, or had duplicates of. The last trip was an all-girls trip. The boys were coming with us this time, so it was like we each had our own personal sherpa! Most excellent. I knew even though some of us were visiting a place we had already been, we would learn, see, and do things that we would be surprised about upon reflecting.

The following are some of my takeaways.

Something that was much different for me this time around was my backpack game. My last time hiking the 10 kilometres into this specific location, I did it with a big Patagonia Black Hole duffel strapped to my back. That first trip was my first ever backpacking trip. I wasn’t quite ready to commit to at five or six hundred dollar (+) backpacking bag because I wasn’t sure it would be something I’d necessarily do a lot of. LONG STORY SHORT.. The last trip ended with me very sore and bruised from the above mentioned bag. Lesson learned. This time around I was fortunate enough to get a really sweet 70L pack from Osprey Packs. What a difference! My hips were still sore with this pack, but I wasn’t bruised. I chalk my tenderness up to the fact that it was a brand new pack and isn’t broken in yet, and the fact that I haven’t hiked that far, with that much on my back likely since the last trip. The proper distribution of weight, and all the straps/compartments really made it a lot easier.

Another thing that was different this time around, was the fact that we had the guys with us. As I mentioned, having your partner with you on these hikes really is a huge help with packing, but the things that other minds think to pack… well, that’s a different story altogether. Warren packed a literal wooden toilet seat, fabricated to sit atop four wooden dowels over your designated and desired bathroom location. Genius! Not only that, but he brought enough tarps and enforced the idea of building a sweat lodge. LEGIT. We heated up rocks from the river in the campfire to put in the sweat lodge, constructed of saplings and tarps. I can’t even tell you how awesome and refreshing it was after the hike in the day before. A perfect way to relax and mentally prepare for the hike out the following morning. Plus, who thinks to build a sweat lodge in the backcountry? Warren does.

I learned that preheating your sleeping bag with a bottle of hot water is key for summer camping in Cape Breton. I think it was something like 4 degrees Celsius overnight. It’s not freezing, and I know people winter camp and all that, but GOODNESS! The hot water bottle trick is key. I’m actually going to invest in a rubber hot water bottle specifically for camping. I have to thank Warren again for this tip.

Another person I must thank is Kim Wempe. Praise you. I had never heard of making s’mores with Celebration Cookies. LORD HAVE MERCY! When everything, even freeze dried meals, taste better in the outdoors… these Celebration Cookie s’mores were heavenly. Such a treat.

ANOTHER THING. I mean, maybe it’s happened to me before and I just slept through it? Regardless, hearing the sound of coyote’s running past your tent, and even hearing them sniffing and panting is pretty memorable. Another memorable moment for me would have to be when Matt tried to embarrass me in front of everyone by telling them I used to partake in the high school lip-syncs. Little did he know that I roll with a bad crew, and that one backfired on him. It’s the little things! He had no idea he was on a trip with some seasoned lip-sync’ers!

I learned that sharing an experience like that is much more soul-enriching when you can see it through the eyes of your dog. With both Matt and I in my little backpacking tent, it would have been an extremely tight squeeze with Zoey there. It broke my heart to leave her home, because I know she would have loved to go a second time, and I would have watched her enjoy her time there with such pleasure. Dog Mom guilt.

 A definite highlight of this trip was the fact that I actually had a poop. I’ve pooped in the woods a number of times. It comes with the territory, and is ultimately inevitable when you spend a good chunk of your time outdoors. Last trip I wanted to have a poop so bad, but it just didn’t happen for me. LOL! Every pound and every ounce counts when you’re backpacking! Packing out a poop is NOT FUN! Haha. So, when I finally had sweet success the morning of the hike out, I literally did a poop-dance. I was so happy. I felt so free. A poop can be liberating and inspirational. Don’t be too proud to admit that. Everybody poops, dude.

Something that was exactly the same as the last trip, was the desperate urge to get ahold of some “real” food and coffee once back to the car. Or in the case of this trip, a spicy caesar! We stopped at The Rusty Anchor in Pleasant Bay on the way home. I opted for the lobster poutine, and WOW – it did not disappoint! Friendly, quick service and the food was amazing.

There’s one final thing I want to mention, and it’s something that I definitely knew the last time I hiked in Northern Cape Breton with these rad women, but this trip was a refresher. The fact of having the right people with you on a trip like this is so key! It’s not something that I could do with just any group of friends. Each one of the people on this adventure are inspirational to me, in different ways. Much like the last trip, I came away from it feeling rejuvenated, recharged and ready for the other adventures to be had this summer!

Bring it on!


Last night, my Mother turned to me and asked if she could ask me a personal question. If you know the relationship that my Mother and I have, you’ll know that we lay everything out on the table. There isn’t much we can’t say to one another. She is truly one of my best friends. So, to have her feeling like she had to ask permission to ask this question, I thought, “Boy, this oughta be good.”

And it was.

She asked, “Why don’t you ever go see your Father?”

Immediately the words “Because I still have a hard time with it” escaped from my mouth. It surprised me, but I’m not sure it was a shock to my Mother. Dad’s been on my mind a lot this week, with the sudden passing of his good friend involved in a tragic motorcycle accident. It’s just something that we never really talked about. Of all the things we are comfortable talking about, this was the unspoken.

I’m glad she caught me off guard. I may have answered differently if I had more time to think about it. I’ve never been afraid to admit to anyone else that I still find visiting my Father in a nursing home very hard. I guess admitting it to my Mother seemed like I was preaching to the choir. Mom’s super dedicated. When she was still working, she would drive 30 km or so to work every day, after work several times a week she would then drive 45 minutes to visit my Father in the hospital, then drive another 30 minutes home. Now that she’s retired, she’s still going a couple of times during the week, and Saturday mornings.

I guess I felt like whining and moaning about how hard it was to go visit my Father would be laughable to my Mom. Of all people, she knew just how hard it was. Seeing a man that used to always be on the go, now sitting in a wheelchair all day, every day. In a nursing home, unable to speak, where someone has to feed him, bathe him, dress him, and change his diaper. I’m not certain he knows who I am. Maybe he does. Perhaps he can still have all the thoughts he was able to have before the accident, just unable to communicate. Imagine; being a prisoner inside your own body.

My Father and I had our share of ups and downs. We fought a lot, because we are so much alike. Stubborn as hell. Opinionated. Try to convince me otherwise. I think we fought so much, because he saw a lot of himself in me, and I think that terrified him, being a bit of a hellion himself. In the months prior to his accident, we had spent a lot of quality time together and we were finally starting to see eye to eye, getting along, and (speaking for myself) enjoying our time together. I feel like his motorcycle accident robbed me of some of the best years with my Dad. Both loving motorcycles, and the feeling of freedom that comes with riding one, I can’t help but think of all the tours we would have went on. All the bluegrass and folk festivals we would have gone to. The things he would’ve taught me. Being a Millwright machinist, he could pretty much do anything and make anything. The hunting we would have done together, the fishing. If I dwell on that stuff too much, I find myself going to a really dark place. I don’t know if anyone would understand it, except maybe another woman that lost her Father at a very influential and tumultuous time in their life.


My Mother was a young woman that lost her Father at a crucial time. Not that there is a “good” time to lose your Dad. I think she must know how difficult it is.

There’s a photo of my Mother putting flowers on her Father’s grave. She’s pregnant with either my brother or myself. So, I know she knows how difficult it is. I am in awe of her strength, and it makes me wonder why I have issues making progress with this particular aspect of my life. I’m an adventurous and relatively outgoing person, but this is my dirty little secret. Surprisingly enough, I’m not having difficulty sharing this. It feels good to type it out and get it off my chest. This isn’t me trying to say I’ve had an epiphany. It’s still going to be hard. It might always be hard. I’m just glad I have a Mom that understands why I feel the way I feel, that cares enough to ask me a tough question, but knows when to leave it be.


Sunsets with the best.

(Weee-ooo!! First Blog)

Living in Canada, and having four seasons is pretty friggin’ great. I love having the opportunities to experience a wide variety of outdoor activities, without having to travel too far. I virtually have it all at my fingertips! However, what I’m finding to be a bit challenging, is the transition from winter into spring and summer.

I’m not sad winter is over. In fact, I’m unexplainably excited for what the spring and summer months hold for me, in terms of adventure and outdoor time. That simple fact is what has me frantically writing these thoughts down. I’m excited for summer adventures, so why am I having such a hard time getting motivated to get out of pursue these adventures that have my mind abuzz and thrill-seeking senses tingling?

I see other people getting out and enjoying the things that early spring has to offer. Why am I having such trouble doing the same? Prime example, Matt is away on a fishing trip with his guy friends. I have all this free time to myself. Why am I not out enjoying the fact that I’m not having to share water with anyone? Why am I not enjoying a hike, just my dog and I?

Perhaps it’s got to do with my newfound love for watercolour painting. I spent most of the winter months drawing and painting. Which I happen to think is a wonderful thing. My mind was beginning to feel a bit stale. The drawing aspect of things was really helpful in stimulating my brain. The painting side of things was just a super freeing and therapeutic element. Especially when using watercolours. I’ve always been super into acrylics. However, with watercolour, I find you have a lot more control and can layer the colours to add depth to your subjects. Watercolours are definitely my new favourite. Though, I’ve got an old pile of gouache that I’ve been threatening to dig out, so who knows where this road of paints will take me.

The most appealing part of painting, to me, is that I get to take what I see while I’m outdoors, and put my own interpretations and spin on things. I can attempt for a lifelike take on a particular idea. Or I can try a more abstract approach. It’s mood-dependant for me. It’s really been an eye-opening realization, this art stuff. I guess it’s the same with anything. Writing, hiking, biking, fishing. If your mind isn’t focused, and your heart isn’t in it, it simply doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel true and honest. It’s not organic.

I cannot force myself to sit down and write.
I can’t tell myself that it’s time to sit down to create another little tiny piece of art.
I can’t make myself go outside, when my mind, heart and soul just aren’t feeling it.

It’s sad to say, but sometimes I’m just not in the right frame of mind for any of my favourite things. Sometimes I get in a slump. A rut of sorts. Some are easier to overcome than others. I guess it’s hard to sit in your rut, while you scroll through a feed of everyone’s best adventure moments, feeling terrible that you’re not out there doing something. I always feel like I should be moving. Doing something that has a purpose, or that will give me a sense of accomplishment once it’s complete. Then I wonder why I give myself such a hard time and compare myself to others.

It’s the same with anything you do. When you finish writing the blog post, you’ll feel accomplished. When you summit the mountain, you’ll feel that sigh of relief. When you land that fish, you’ll feel complete. And when you put the final brush stroke on that painting, you’ll feel whole. Everything has its time and place.

So, I guess what I’m trying to tell you, and myself, is to not feel guilty about the things you enjoy. If it’s a beautiful day outside, but you feel inspired to stay inside and paint, don’t feel guilty.

If you enjoy it, if it makes your soul happy, don’t feel guilty about it.