I grew up in Upstate New York along the Mohawk River in a small village nestled in the belly of a valley surrounded by dairy farms, maple trees, apple orchards, and small-town school rivals. I was forever wishing for more throughout my teens, never realizing all that I had until I left it behind.

I discovered many things throughout my youth and well into my twenties. I was the typical small-town jock who drove a 96' Mustang GT to school in practice. I aced classes and chased money. I pictured life anywhere but where I grew up. College was a technical institute in the great arctic north of New York. After graduation, I kept on the path of chasing a dollar and worked as a project engineer. The grind caught up. The burnout was felt in my fingers. I forgot what it was like to feel. Feel like anything but a robot.

I learned something. Less Expecting, More Accepting. And that idea started with accepting myself. It began with my covering my fingers in paint and smearing them across a canvas. I learned that existence is incomplete without expression. So express, I did. I expressed myself into an apartment. I expressed myself into ‌owning a dog. I expressed myself so hard that my life partner and I dated new people together. And one of those people, we traveled the country with, in a bus I converted myself - with the money I received from selling the ol' Mustang from high school. I expressed myself into opening an art and yoga studio. I expressed myself into buying a house in the very town I swore I would never love. And now, I've expressed myself into becoming a father-to-be. A Papa to our very own little human. To guide and to accept whatever version of expression they choose.

Yet, after all of that, I still struggle with confidence. With convincing myself that I am everything I wished to be. I struggle with not falling victim to imposter syndrome. I have to remind myself daily that I am an Artist, an Author, and a Poet.

I am Sar.