They say you can never go home again, but what if home is the only place left where you might rediscover yourself? I didn't come back to Boulder for the mountains or the artisanal coffee?though they don't hurt. I came back because, somewhere along the way, I lost myself in the chaos of life, and now I'm searching for the pieces. Theo Thompson, with his tousled hair and paint-streaked fingers, is more than just a distraction. He's the kind of creative chaos that makes me want to pick up a brush and face the canvas again, even if it means confronting the doubts and fears I thought I left behind in New York. But with every stroke of color, I realize that it's not just art I'm afraid of?it's what happens when you let someone in, especially someone who sees you in ways you've forgotten how to see yourself. So, here I am, standing on the edge of something terrifyingly beautiful. My heart says to embrace the mess, but my head keeps whispering: what if it's not enough? What if I'm not enough?
