Fantasy and creativity have never been my strong suit. Give me a problem to solve, and I’ll dive in headfirst. But even problem-solving has its limits - just ask math. I’ve never been great at math, yet somehow I’ve spent 5 years as a computer programmer (math), followed by nearly 30 years in mortgage underwriting (oh look, MORE math). I thrived in my logic-based world just fine. Then I met my partner. He’s a graphic artist, and even after 20+ years together, his creativity still astounds me. Somehow, he passed that gift on to our daughter, who can draw beautifully, and my two adopted daughters, who are just as talented. For years, every time I needed a piece of art, I went straight to my in-house art king or, more recently, AI tools. I stayed in my logical lane, watching the artists in my life with admiration from afar. Repeatedly saying : “I’m just not creative”.

Cue the internal debate. On one hand, I loved that I could zip up the mediums, even if they were holding on for dear life. On the other hand, the size large felt… comfortable. A little less pinchy, a little less precarious. They fit me. But oh, the sting of choosing comfort over fantasy.

I stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at myself in the dressing room mirror, pondering the age-old question: “Do I want to be able to breathe when I sit down?”