How could I be living this simple, peaceful existence of making art, prop-styling my apartment for mini photoshoots, listening to my podcasts, eating fresh produce from my garden? How could I justify waking up and creating in my comfort, when so much around me was dying?
Something was off. I was hoarding happiness and it didn’t feel . . . happy. I felt bloated, that kind of “Thanksgiving full” where you overeat and it’s just not fun anymore. There was a dissonance growing, and it was becoming bolder and bigger.