Katie, Bainbridge Island
I thought I was going to miss the ferry to Bainbridge: I was running from three blocks away with two minutes to spare, dodging tourists who jumped aside and stared, and when I sprinted past the lady at the ticket gate I heard her radio crackle, "Close it up. We're pulling out," and she said, "Hold on. I've got one more," and the ferry workers were tapping their feet and rolling their eyes when I came sliding down the ramp yelling, "Sorry! Thank you! Sorry!" But I made it. I made it, and I got to have breakfast with Katie, and every time I'm with her she helps me see that I am strong and cherished and loved, and all the fear that I can't do the work I want to do because I don't have the right camera and I don't have the talent and I don't have the money and besides that I'm wearing the wrong shoes—all that fear goes away, and I can see what I'm here to do, and I remember that I don't have to be afraid, and I don't have to know how or when or even why: I just need to keep leaning after that tug in my heart, and the rest will come.