I stepped out of the airport to a blast of heat, inwardly grumbling at the prospect of quickly becoming drenched in sweat as I lugged my bags toward the car. However, as the week went on, I quickly found myself adjusting to the heavy, humid air as my cousin and I roamed the streets of DC and New York City.
It seems that as I grow, the number of years matter less and less.
My sporadic passions can be much like ocean currents carrying jellies, taking me across vast spaces with potential to travel a thousand different directions. At any given time, at least three or four or ten different projects are circulating through my head. What kind of article should I write this month? Where would I want to travel next? I should read more. What can I paint next on my wall? How can I connect art and science and share it with the world?
What next? Continue reading