I was.
For the longest time, when I was trying to build my first website, I was so concerned with sacred geometry and getting the design philosophy right that I never actually learned how to build a button. That's the truth. That's where I started.
Then I moved to Guatemala. And somewhere between the lake, the mountains, and the community of dogs I'm mama to, something shifted. I stopped waiting to be ready and just started building. And something I can only call magic happened.
I realized I had access to something I never had before. Not just a tool. A collaborator. And with it, I was able to do things I genuinely didn't think were in my range. I am a coach, an artist, a facilitator, a writer. And now, apparently, also a developer.
As an artist, I've always known that building a universe means you also get to destroy it. You make something, you burn it down, you build something entirely new. Giving yourself that permission — to destroy your own work — is one of the hardest things you'll ever do. And one of the most important. This is just that, in a new medium.
And maybe it was never about being a tech person or not being a tech person. We are so quick to hand ourselves labels, and those labels quietly decide what we're capable of. Maybe I'm still not a tech person. Maybe I'm just a person who is no longer afraid of tech. A person who used it to put her entire life's creative work on a beautiful stage. Which, when I actually think about it, is the most creative thing I've ever done.
Some of us have a very wide range in life. The Renaissance Crew. The jack-of-all-trades who've always felt like they could do more than any one box would hold. This is the ultimate yes to that. It just expands the continuum of who you are. And that, to me, is magic.
I found something so incredible that I had to share it. That's always been why I teach. This is me finally being able to build the thing I'm teaching and teach it while I'm building it. That's the whole loop.