For every picture I post, there are twenty I don’t. I take 72, and sit on my bed hitting the delete button with a critical eye and a question on my brain. I go back and forth between two seemingly similar pictures to end up picking both or neither. I celebrate, I frown, I annoy myself and my kid with “do you like this??” But I always go with my gut. It sticks with me with no retreat, an hour, a day, a week later. Anyone who bakes, cooks, plays, writes, or whatever you do knows how the reality behind it is messy, harsh, ugly, and beautiful. But I keep at it, pushing the limits I placed on myself to keep from failing. I’ll take 60 more, hate 58, but damn if that 59th isn’t the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day.