For decades, I struggled to find a path. In and out of school, I was a visual artist who studied philosophy. My business card was a wallet sized black & white photocopy of a snapshot of clouds: no name, no title. When people asked me what I wanted to be, I'd answer: "I want to be a paid traveling humanist." I researched careers in human services, in healthcare, in psychology, in art. I typed forms in museums and universities, interned as an art therapist, apprenticed as an art restorer, studied academic painting, did portraits on the street, worked as a waitress (not a natural), a "gal friday" for architects and designers, wept into my typewriter. One year I worked at 28 jobs for only days or weeks before quitting or getting fired. "Are you on drugs?" one employer asked. I was drugged with despair at ever finding right livelihood, creative work in which I could contribute something to others. That was my quest. I taught myself paste-ups and mechanicals, became a graphic designer, worked in magazines, educational publishing and started my own business designing for arts organizations and non-profits. After completing a series of paintings of the rugged Scottish landscape, I grew tired of images and started writing. I wrote everywhere: on street corners, in cafes, on benches, in bed. I wrote about hard things hidden behind long silences. I took workshops and was nurtured by the generosity of mentors. What began with words and sentences grew into paragraphs, pages, essays and chapters. My words moved out into the world and reached others. When my memoir Life Inside was published, a great healing began. "I used to think I was crazy, and then I discovered: I'm a writer!" was my little joke. Now I have the privilege of helping others to write their stories. My students are amazing people, talented writers with strong voices, on their own journeys of craft and healing. My work with them is a journey; they are my teachers too. Sometimes I'm invited to travel to places I've never been, to teach or read. My adolescent vision has come to be: I am a paid traveling humanist. I write. It's a portable profession, no heavy easels or canvases or paints to lug: just life, inside. I write, I think, I teach, I read. What could possibly be better?