Among the avocado stands, falafel samples and activists hoping to reverse bike friendly lane changes on a major thoroughfare her cards stand out: dream like visions of women in splendid colors.

Third eyes.

Story lines on open hands.

Skulls and wings.

Roots, leaves, lace and butterflies.

"Want to pick a card?" the artist dares me with a warm smile and sparkle in her blue eyes. She is ready to play. Am I? Sure!

I pick a card from her set. Fire red is the first thing I see. Or is it bood red? Eyes looking right at me. Is that the setting sun behind her or a rising moon? An underwater bubble? Winter fields in Eastern Europe? Full lips. A butterfly at the throat.

"Find Your Voice", the card encourages me.

Well, you would think that as a radio journalist that's what I do all day: find and use my voice. Speaking into a microphone. Heard through speakers. So what about my voice?

It strikes me that I am currently on the journey to find my voice. I am more than this 'objective' journalist. I remember writing my own stories as a child when there was no library around or the books I had chosen were simply boring. Remembering the joy of making things up. Fun stuff. Sad stuff. Suspense, love, anger, light. And Darkness. Now I ask myself: Am I funny? Am I serious? Am I both? Do I want to write about me? About the poeple I meet on the street? Just observations? Moments? Lives? I know I am a writer. I know I am a free spirit. I know I am light AND darkness. I know, I want to be all in.

I am discovering what that means and how to use my voice again. 

Thank you Outi for letting me pick the perfect card to rememeber.

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