I didn’t set out with a plan.
There was no map, no clear goal, no audience in mind.
Just a feeling. A pull.
A quiet insistence that something needed to come through me.

And so I followed it.

What emerged was… something.
I’m not 100% sure what to call it.
But it feels like a kind of roadmap — a simplification of a long, messy, sacred process I’ve lived through:
what Carl Jung might call individuation.

Not in an abstract, intellectual sense.
But in the real, gritty, everyday sense.
The kind that comes after falling apart.
After questioning who you are.
After letting go of everything you thought you had to be.

It came from somewhere deep.
I don’t fully know what that means — only that it felt like an unconscious drive to create.
It emanated without effort.
Which, to me, suggests it came from a wiser part of myself —
a part that had been quietly gathering everything I’ve lived, even the so-called missteps,
and weaving them into a kind of symphony.

This thing I’ve made —
it brought together the different facets of who I am.
The therapist-in-training.
The one who’s been broken open.
The father.
The artist.
Even the boy who got lost and had to find his own way back.

What matters most is this:
I was already proud of it before I showed anyone.
It didn’t need applause to feel real.
It felt like something I had to make — and I did.

Still… if you’re here, and something stirs in you when you read it —
then maybe it’s for you, too.

I hope this project becomes a kind of mirror —
a way for people to find meaning within their own lives,
to become more in touch with themselves,
and less driven by unconscious patterns they never chose.

I hope it makes a small dent in the collective unconscious —
a positive one.

Because maybe that’s our quiet, shared purpose:
to leave a legacy that helps humanity, in whatever way we can.