From Fuzzy Feelings to Finer Verses

Have you ever been told you can’t? That you aren’t good enough? Take a moment. Breathe. Now, imagine meeting me in person. Imagine we’re sitting across from each other (or side by side if direct eye contact isn’t your thing). You’d notice that I rarely flaunt my identity. But today, I lay my cards on the table and tell you I am a poet and an author with bona fide publications to my name. (Please, don’t rush off to find them; this isn’t a sales pitch.)

You see, my real aim here is not self-promotion but to ignite the flames of resilience and mastery in you. The essence of you today might evolve tomorrow, but if you’re true to your journey, the heart of your identity will shine brighter. While many know me as a myriad of roles – a scientist, musician, dad, spouse, chef, therapist – at my core, I’m a poet, and a commendable one at that.

Why bare my soul like this, you ask? Well, sometimes, a tale from one’s past can be the strongest testimony of why giving up isn’t an option. Prepare yourself, for I’m about to dive deep into a mortifying chapter from my younger years, all to prove one thing: when passion fuels you, setbacks transform into setups.

Rewind to fifth grade: my debut into the poetic world was an ode to a girl I was smitten with. Just a little hint - it wasn’t exactly a Shakespearean sonnet, and my understanding of a ‘Haiku’ was, let’s say, unconventional. But the result? Well, stick around and prepare to be amused…

The Haiku, or what I believed to be one at that tender age, was simple. It read:

Dear Ms. Priscilla,You make me feel fuzzy likeA caterpillar.

Now, to a seasoned poet or, let’s be honest, anyone with a basic grasp of poetry, this was child’s play—literally. Yet, to Priscilla, it was a token, a piece that held meaning. In her excitement, she urged me to recite it aloud for her clique.

As I stood there, in front of a giggling group, my young heart thudding against my ribs, I realized two truths. First, life’s rules, much like those governing poetry, are foundational yet not always clear. And second, the value of art—be it poetry, music, or any form—isn’t always about its sophistication. It’s about connection, emotion, and the sheer audacity to express oneself.

So, why drag this memory from the dusty corners of my past and present it to you? It’s not for comedic relief, though I won’t deny it serves that purpose. No, it’s to tell you that your beginnings, however humble, have value. Every stumble, every misstep, is a part of your journey. A journey where you learn, evolve, and, most importantly, persevere.

Over the years, I’ve honed my craft, understanding the intricacies of metaphors, the rhythm of verses, and the delicate dance of words. But I often find myself fondly reminiscing about that rudimentary Haiku, for it was raw, real, and brimming with emotion.

To you, wherever you stand in your journey, remember that growth is a continuous process. You’re bound to face criticisms, bouts of self-doubt, and moments where you question your worth. But amidst all this, don’t forget your ‘Priscilla moments.’ Those instances that, in their simplicity, remind you of your passion and why you embarked on this path in the first place.

In closing, always keep this in mind: perfection is a lofty and often elusive goal. It’s the heart, the grit, the resilience that truly matter. So, pick up your pen, paintbrush, instrument, or whatever tool your craft demands, and let your soul speak. For in the realm of art, passion trumps perfection, always.