the ward method

Tag: poetry

  • Make art. Be hot. Period.

    Make art. Be hot. Period.

    I’ve loved art for as long as I can remember.
    Not in a look at me way, but in a quiet, personal way. The kind of love that feels like it’s stitched into who you are without needing to be explained.

    Growing up, I found comfort in poetry, in reading writers like Jack Kerouac and George Orwell, who somehow put feelings into words in a way that made the world feel a little more understandable. I wasn’t the best at math, I didn’t always feel like the smartest person in the room, but give me a blank page or a set of paints, and I felt like I had everything I needed.

    I think that’s the beauty of creativity. It’s freeing.
    It’s not about being perfect or impressive, it’s about being present.
    When I sit down to paint or draw just for the sake of it, when I write messy poetry, I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m just existing. And in a world that constantly asks you to perform or produce, creating for no reason at all feels like the most powerful thing you can do.

    Art has always been a way for me to stay connected to myself. It’s healing in the way that being outside is healing, like when you take a walk, breathe in the fresh air, and realize how small your worries feel compared to the open sky.
    It’s the same feeling I get when I journal after a long day, literally unloading the noise inside my head onto a page and making space for something lighter.

    Creative expression reminds me that I don’t have to have everything figured out. I don’t have to be the smartest, the most organized, or the most logical. I just have to show up and be myself.

    That’s enough.
    It always has been.

    If you’re feeling a little lost (or just brain-fried), seriously… go make something.
    It doesn’t have to be good. It doesn’t even have to make sense.
    Paint something weird. Write the worst poem ever.
    Just create for the hell of it.
    You’ll be shocked at how much lighter you feel after.

  • There was nowhere to go but everywhere.

    There was nowhere to go but everywhere.

    An ode to staying soft and brave, even when the road is uncertain.

    “There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep rolling under the stars.” — Jack Kerouac

    I come back to this quote often. Not just because Kerouac is one of my favourite writers, but because these words feel like a gentle reminder from the universe: you’re not stuck, you’re just in motion.

    Life isn’t linear. It doesn’t always make sense. And sometimes, it takes breaking down on the side of your own metaphorical highway to remember that you’re still allowed to dream. Still allowed to get back in the car, blast your favourite song, and take the long way home.

    There’s something comforting about the idea that you don’t need a perfect plan to keep going. That you can be messy and unsure and still brave. That rolling under the stars, wherever they lead you, is enough.

    I think sometimes we convince ourselves we’ve missed our shot. That if we didn’t figure it all out by a certain age, or if things didn’t go as planned, then maybe we’re not cut out for the life we once wanted. But the truth is, we’re never too late for anything meant for us. Not love. Not growth. Not big, soul-filling dreams.

    And you don’t need to have it all figured out to start. You just need a little courage and a lot of heart. The rest? It comes as you go.

    No matter how old you are.
    No matter how defeated you’ve felt.
    You are strong enough to do hard things.
    To change direction.
    To start again.
    To roll on, dusty, hopeful, a little broken, but still here.

    So if you needed a sign today, this is it.

    You don’t need a map.
    You just need movement.
    Keep rolling.
    Keep showing up.
    There’s still everywhere left to go. Chase your dreams.