During turbulence, my nerves whirl into a frenzy and I’m thrown into a pit of panic that includes: sweating, clinching the arm seats, with my head tilted back as I mumble a little prayer, which usually goes something like,

“You’re so dramatic. It’s okay. We’re in the hands of professionals. I mean, you never wrote a will

but that’s okay. Parris keeps everything, I’m sure he knows that.”

With a tendency to always forget that this part of every plane ride is indeed normal, I reluctantly look around to find all the stewardess faces calm and collected; unaware that we are thousands of feet in the air; lingering and graciously floating by the grace of man.

Yet as soon as I reach a good level of calm, the plane shakes and I’m thrown into that pit of panic all over again.

This is something I coincide with on a day-to-day basis ever since unwillingly joining the freelancer club.

I mean, I wanted to join the club just not at the circumstance I was given but I’m here now; with my wings spread wide and an ounce of grief that only comes in waves before the first of every month.

Because the objective for us creatives is to be our own boss, to lallygag through fields of dreams and money-bags that shape into a perpetual lifestyle of the ever-so-easy going individual, who creates merely at the will of their mind and not so much of the need of someone nagging them to. Nor are we tied into the debt we owe, or the reoccurring bills to those who feel as if we own them something

Because that isn’t true. We owe no one anything except the craft we’re deemed to share.

After landing, I’m seeping back into a semi-wrecked soul (because I’m quite the optimistic), a mind need of easing and sweaty palms as I thought to myself that turbulence in our 20’s is here to shake up the culture who have slept on their craft for far too long. Without a little turbulence, who are we to say we haven’t gotten comfortable? Without it, who are we to say that, what we’re doing is anything of good value?

I so eagerly wanted a life of no obligation to anyone but myself, I wanted to soar above the naysayers and a path of my own. And that’s what I got. The universe led me to the edge with rainbows and butterflies then pushed me off with no sense of regard.

Dear Creative, deposit the never ending taunting of adulthood and withdraw the means to prove a point of self-worth and self-will. Because no one will give you what you truly deserve, if you haven’t invested in yourself first. And fuck them anyways.

Anyone will neglect your need to create, unless you solidify yourself as a force to reckon with. As anyone will half-ass their way to a level of respect… but not you, Creative.

From a figurative sense of turbulence to a literal in-flight experience you shall prosper in every aspect.

From the feeling of falling behind to the overwhelming emotion you douse yourself in when you’ve won —-Dear Creative, take flight.