I have always been very nostalgic. I have made Europe my home partially because of this. I love to walk old cobble stone streets and imagine the people centuries before me walking the same path. I love touching old doors to feel the chipped paint and cracked wood. The craftsmanship of a time when everything was made by hand, where care and love were put into everything that was made because it was a families mark on the town they lived in. Today we care so much less about expressing our own, and our families individuality. Everything is made by machines for fast convenience.
But for me the best things have a touch of dilapidation from time. Even withered, dried flowers are more beautiful to me than those in bloom. I feel a sense of honor and gratefulness to walk their same path, to touch the bricks they laid, softened by time. To exist in the space of those who had such a passion for their own legacy makes me want to strive to make sure I leave behind my own. In a world that is always trying to make us the same, they inspire me to be different and not be afraid of that difference. Because even long after these people have gone their stories are alive in their architecture, their sculptures, and their paintings.
Whenever I find myself questioning my own strength, I look at the people in the past who have shaped who I am without having ever uttered a word to me. Their blood flows through my veins and strengthen my resolve. I am the daughter of former slaves, of native americans who survived the trail of tears, of pioneers, and of kings. I come from brave, strong stock, and whatever I endeavor to do in life I can achieve. When my problems seem like tall walls I have no ability to climb, I find a rope somehow and make it over the top. I have never been hardened by any experience and have allowed myself to stay soft and vulnerable, even when the stakes are high. There is strength in that, and I’m proud. I know that while we are all individuals and our lives are special, unique experiences from one another, I don’t for a second fail to realize that our genes play a specific role in how we handle things in life. Even if our roots are movable, and constantly changing, that consistency is one of the greatest the gifts of life.