The roads we travel

If someone would have foretold the winding paths that would weave through my life's journey, I doubt I would have taken their words to heart. Raised by my artistic mother until her passing, my upbringing shifted into the hands of my stringent grandparents. It was at the age of 12, during a trip to Virginia Beach alongside my cousin Kubby, that the spark for my musical talents was first ignited within the confines of a karaoke booth. Belting out Billy Ray Cyrus's "Achey Breaky Heart," I caught the attention of my grandmother, who saw in me a musical potential she believed was heaven-sent, a gift meant to be nurtured. Yet, despite her unwavering conviction, I never truly harbored a deep-seated passion for singing. This notion, however, seemed to elude both her and myself. The weight of guilt accompanied me as I treaded the path of what I thought was supposed to be my dream, all in an attempt to fulfill my grandmother's expectations. Yet, a crucial piece seemed to be missing from within - that unwavering fervor and determination that propels one towards greatness. It was a loss of self-authenticity early on in life, a struggle to vocalize my true desires, and an unfamiliarity with declining a path not meant for me. It wasn't until my thirties that the strokes of a paintbrush finally led me back to a semblance of self-discovery.