Vachon Imagined

When you do what you love, it tends to come naturally. You can refine it, shape it, develop it—but there is always a sense that it returns to you. Like a favorite poem or song, it finds its way back. It is the talent given to you to express among others who are also expressing theirs—each offering a piece of life through their mind, their intellect, their presence.

How you receive that says as much about you as it does about what is being offered.

Take me, for example, in writing. I love to write, but it doesn’t always come easily. I’ll sit down with an idea that feels clear—something that, in my mind, is almost finished, maybe even “award-winning”—and then suddenly it unravels. It doesn’t come together the way I expected. Sometimes it goes in a direction I didn’t intend at all.

I’ve learned in those moments to step back, because I can feel when it’s not aligning.

Often, what people try to express is shaped more by mood than by true skill. Mood gets treated like truth. But those who are called to do something—who feel they must do it—learn to move beyond mood. Beyond the reactions of others. Not everyone will like what they make. I know not everyone likes mine.

But the work still calls.

And over time, you begin to notice something simple: what is meant for you doesn’t leave. Even when you try to step away from it, it returns. Again and again. Until you listen.