Today, I did a lot of walking.

I first walked across town for a little over an hour to a cafe that was on my list. Very much worth it. Would I like dessert? Yes, please. What would I like? I don’t know an absolute ton of French, but that pot de creme chocolat with chantilly fermiere, yeah, that’s the one. I think I know “pot o’ chocolate.” And I would probably walk across town every day for it. One of the best things I’ve eaten probably in years. Seriously.

And then I walk about thirty minutes to the Coulee Verte Rene-Dumont. It’s the Parisian High Line, like in New York. They’re pretty different, but both very wonderful.

It’s just a nice day walking. Which gives me time and space to do a lot of thinking. A lot of very personal thinking (I’ll spare you those details). Some things seeming to click. Things about why I am the way I am. Everything a response to something. All clicking together.

Anyway. Somehow eye-opening, and helpful. But also a little anxiety-producing in the process of it. To process those things. And realize you’re probably not broken, or crazy, or weird, or any of the things you’ve been telling yourself to rationalize any of it. Anyway. A beneficial part of this adventure.

At some point along the journey to the park I happen upon Jean Nouvel’s Institute du Monde Arabe. Just walked up to it. It’s a really incredible building, but the best part is the south western facade, which is made of a series of apertures that open and close to let more or less sunlight through. Amazing.

I keep walking and thinking. And here’s where it gets rambly. I think about that building. And the ideas to get to the apertures that make the building iconic. That process. And the conversation.

And then I start to think about my work. And the ideas to get to certain places. The process to get somewhere. And the time and thought and work to make it good. The real time. And real thought. And real work. To make it good.

And then I think about how my younger self wouldn’t believe I was here. Here in this very moment. But also here in life, doing something I love so much that I travel across the world to see it. How when I was a kid I definitely wanted to be an artist. I was always making or painting or drawing. Always. But had no idea I would be here.

In fourth grade we had someone come in from Junior Achievement. The guy was much older and wore a black suit every time he visited. One day, he went around the room and asked everyone what they wanted to be when they grew up. A number of doctors, teachers, presidents, all of those things. “Oh, very good,” he would say after each one. I had two in mind, but I couldn’t pick so I said both–“I either want to be a professional soccer player or an artist.” Ok, I’m nine or ten years old.

“Ha! Well, you might want to think about that. Women’s soccer isn’t very popular. And artists don’t make any money until after they’re dead…”

Cool. I was embarrassed. And sad. Ashamed even. And now I just think, who the hell says that to kids? And he was wrong anyway. These were the years of Mia Hamm and Brandi Chastain. And he never saw the things I made. But I never forgot it.

So I just, kinda, went through. Loving both of those things but not taking either too seriously because I guess I thought I would have to find something else anyway. The man in the suit said. And my dad always told us to go to school and get an education so we didn’t have to work in a factory like him.

They gave us some kind of aptitude test in eighth grade to help us figure out what path to take in high school, which AP and Honors classes would help us get where we needed to be. Mine said I should be an engineer. Oh god. No.

But perhaps engineering mixed with art could be architecture? So that was it. I liked to tell people I wanted to be an architect, it sounded cool. And there’s a bit of mystery to the work. Oh, you’re artistic and good at math? Sure…

So I focused on art and calculus and physics. And one of my teachers recommended the Humanities class (thank goodness). And I stuck with Spanish because I loved learning the language. And English classes became another point for creativity, though I’ve always been a pretty mediocre writer. And then soccer sorta eventually fell away.

And I think about all of the art I’ve seen. Part of me would love to wake up every morning and create something new. Something straight from my brain to paper or canvas or bronze or plaster. I mean, think about Picasso’s life. And think about his portfolio of work. And think about all of those pieces being scattered across the world.

That was one thing about my art after that thing in fourth grade, it became very personal, just for me. Unless I made it specifically for someone else, it was all for me. Just to be making. And I had a hard time sharing those personal pieces with others. I remember my art teacher in high school told me I should take AP Art. But I was so nervous about it–that I wasn’t good enough, or interesting enough, that my concentration wouldn’t be deep enough to carry me through the year, and I didn’t want to put part of myself out into the world that way. I couldn’t really explore the things I wanted in that process. I could never be an artist.

The act of sitting and pulling the things out of your brain in a meaningful way and sharing them. I don’t know, I was very uncomfortable doing that. I’m sure there’s a number of reasons for that.

But architecture school gave me something I think I was missing. There was a framework to push up against. There was something very specific to respond to, a number of things to respond to. A problem to be solved. And people to inhabit the spaces. Design philosophies, but also physics. I loved it more than I could have ever known.

And I’m probably not very good at it most days. But I really love it. Passionate about it. What it means. How it shapes our world, both good and bad. I think one of the most interesting things an architect has ever said was that LeCorbusier was the father of hip hop (more on that later). Following the cause and effect of that through history is fascinating. The power of your environment to shape your perception and understanding of the world. Good and bad.

I want to do it for good. So did LeCorbusier. Where’d it go wrong? (Also, more on that later. Maybe.).

We work with environments and history and culture and people and materials and light and color and space. Sculpting space. The thought of that takes my breath away.

My favorite thing in the world is a new project. Figuring it out, learning, researching, putting all the pieces together. There’s always a point in the process where I hate what I’ve done, and then I find it along the way. But I always love the very beginning. So much possibility.

And now I’m walking down the street, almost two hours back to my apartment, trying not to cry just thinking about Architecture. And how I got here. And how much I love it. And how much it means. And all of the people that are part of that. I can’t stop thinking about those people. Gratitude.

So, yes, the art means a lot to me. And I love it. But Architecture brings me back to that creative place every single day. A place of discovery. And a place of meaning. If it wasn’t before, it is confirmed in my brain that I am doing what I was meant to do. Maybe just a reminder. Reigniting my soul a little bit.

I finally get back to my room. My feet hurt. Like real bad. So I lay on the bed and scroll through my dumb phone for a while.

Then I find a cafe for dinner and call into our new “DESIGN is…” talks at the office. I’m pretty excited about it. A conversation. A sharing of ideas. And beautiful things. Please don’t get sucked into the tornado of practicality and budgets and things yet. Float on the ideas for a second. Inspiration. And then we will work on implementation. We are problem solvers, after all. We’ll get there.

Anyway. Some of the ramblings from my brain. Perhaps not too profound. But just happy I found my place in this thing.