“What are you searching for?” she said. It was late in Paris. We were jetlagged and a little bit drunk. Sitting upon a rooftop patio, a torrential downpour had just cleared the evening sky. The city spread out before us in a dusky, rosy, violent, dreamy sort of light. The question took me by surprise. It lingered, unassuming and kind.

Of late I find myself thinking a lot about that question. I wonder about congruence and what it means to live a creative life. A part of me understands that perhaps the search is simple. Perhaps congruence is just made up of truth and love and that fluidity of being that comes with the ebbs and flow of inquiry. To me this is a creative life, I suppose. A simultaneous coming home and wandering outwards of sorts.

I can’t say that I’ll ever truly know what this search is for, but I do find myself opening my heart in the process and maybe that’s enough.