Years later, when I rediscovered art — after the toys, after the debt, after

Years later, when I rediscovered art — after the toys, after the debt, after the first big unraveling — it felt like oxygen.

Not expression. Not rebellion. Oxygen.

Drawing again felt like remembering my native language.

I realized then that creativity wasn’t the thing that led me astray — it was the thing that brought me home.

Art didn’t pull me off the correct path. It was the path. It had always been.

And that realization changed my life more than any spiritual or philosophical shift. It wasn’t enlightenment; it was remembering.