The other day I was catching up with an artist friend of mine on the phone. The topic moved beyond the normal "how'ya beens and whatcha workin' ons" to a deeper conversation about goals, the direction the art itself was taking in each of our lives, and our own individual struggles as moms, women, balancing life, and of course being creatives who can never manage to shut their heads off at night. My friend said, "My version of paradise right now is a convertible sportscar." I laughed thinking about all the bugs she'd swallow and how long hair tends to fly forward as opposed to flowing back all sexy like as she was imagining. My version of paradise was a cup of coffee in some side street outdoor cafe outside of Budapest at that moment I think, coffee she'd never drink no matter where it was served. It got me thinking about what it is that makes folks happy and how, although we are all human, our versions of happiness are as unique as we are. It made me thankful in that very second that we are not all the same, that our voices, our art, our experiences and stories are incredibly varied because, quite frankly, only we ourselves are qualified to define our own personal paradise.
