The work of my hands.

I’ve been thinking about how my tendency is to segment and compartmentalize parts of myself based on my perception of their value.  For example, I tend to devalue my work as a makeup artist when I think about it in comparison to my pursuits like writing, music, and painting. 

I have this subconscious narrative telling me my work in the beauty industry is “frivolous” and fluffy/on the surface, i.e. not as meaningful. 

Logically, I know that isn’t true, but there is a part of me that believes it.  It’s also my ego telling me that being a writer, musician and painter is more impressive. 

But what I’ve started to realize is that that all my work has a common denominator: me…my presence, my heart, my lens. 

The work of my hands is the work of my hands. 

It doesn’t matter what it is—my hands sculpt it. I’m always bringing me. And honestly that’s so freeing. 

I’m one wheel with many spokes, but they all originate from the same source.  They are all valuable.  They are all sacred.  They’re all me. 

The kind of work I’m doing isn’t a commentary on me, my worthiness or my essence—my work is an avenue of self-expression and service to my community.  It ALL has a place and there are times and seasons for everything. 

My desire is to stay open and allow my inner being to lead…to surrender to the flow of the Universe and to see the richness and value of all my parts, to integrate them all and to give space to what is showing up.  

Everything belongs.  The work of my hands is the work of my hands.