I used to think 'finding yourself' was a destination, a single bright room you eventually walked into and settled down in. Now I suspect it's more like a constant rearranging of furniture. I spent so long building walls, thinking that was 'finding myself' – defining the perimeter of what I wasn't. Now the work feels like taking those walls apart, brick by brick, just to see what kind of garden grows in the open space. I thought I was building a house, solid and permanent. Turns out I was planting a tree. The roots go deep, but the branches? They’re always reaching for a new sky.