Recipe for success.

Feed your mind with a book.

Feed your body with sleep.

Feed your soul with meditation.

Feed your body again—this time with oatmeal.

Feed your body with biking.

Feed your soul with a friend and their conversation.

Feed your mind with problem-solving.

Do it all again.

When I'm stressed, I'll obsess.

Replay everything in my head.

Determine the worst outcome.

Dread.

Dread.

Dread.

Keep it loose.

As soon as I put a limit on this, I'll not want to do it.

I will abandon this.

Reminder: I don't thrive with rigidity.

Structure, yes.

Pressure, no.

I'm still learning, constantly remaking myself over.

I'm really delighting in having this microscopic sliver of the internet back for my whims and whimsy.

I must center gratitude.

Also, embrace some purposelessness goshdarnit.

Dreaming, creating.

"Being an artist is not just about what happens when you are in the studio. The way you live, the people you choose to love and the way you love them, the way you vote, the words that come out of your mouth...will also become the raw material for the art you make." 
—Teresita Fernández

Perhaps one day I'll do this residency.

One day I'll put my media skills to direct use again here. Or here. Or here.

I love this video. I love Barry Jenkins.

I know which filmmakers I want to be like.

I know what kind of filmmaker I already am.

There's power in that. xx

I've always been vulnerable.

But I'm also not vulnerable in so many ways.

Prime example: I do not like to ask for help.

I would rather fumble. Falter. Fail.

I'm getting better at this.

From my "to experience" list: TPT's Jim Crow of the North.

"What did you do in 2018?"

Well, I—

Meditated almost every day. Started in January, post-breakup.

Continued therapy. Felt supported on my healing journey.

Rearranged my room.

Made new friends.

Explored bakeries and libraries.

Bought some great ceramics.

Started a new job. Danced in the park with a dear friend to celebrate.

Visited Chicago and St. Louis for the first time.

Worked hard on my first feature-length documentary, My Inheritance.

There you go, we're all caught up now. xx

Revisiting.

I'm here. I'm alive. I've been blogging since 2006. Gosh, I had so much time to burn as a tween.

I changed this blog back to its original title, The Dreams That Make Us Real. Yes. More fitting.

I am nearly 25. I have lived in Minnesota for seven years.

I've been slacking on contributing to Interbeing, my most recent collaborative project with my favorite person, Nicole.

I have read a ton this year. Browse my digital shelves.

The best thing is when new partners of a Facebook friend—usually complete strangers to me—will like said friend's polaroid portrait that I took of them years ago. It is such a happy happenstance.

This Spotify playlist chronicles what I'm listening to these days. It also archives back to September 2016, aka when I began my Tinyletter.

While trying to write this, I've been getting lost in blogs and Madewell and artists' shops.

From my "to experience" list: Gentle Cinema, as curated by someone on Letterboxd. 

Thanks for reading. xx