I think much of our world is crying out for connection, but we don’t know what to look for in the cultural “norms” we’ve been soothed into believing. So when we find something in art, books, music, or craft that feels authentic and reminds us of something we once knew, we latch on. Like a toddler who was once an infant and recognizes the scent of its mother, a human who connects with another human being finally sees again because the glasses have the proper prescription. What does this mean?

We’ve got to keep looking for the clues that link us to simple realities — authenticity that isn’t curated to flawlessness. True authenticity contains unapologetic weakness: a grandma’s embroidered pillow with a stitch of a different color blue than the rest of the word, a slice of pie that would be a little better with ice cream but the Neopolitan didn’t make it into the grocery cart, a book that isn’t what publishing says will sell but delivers emotions we can all relate to no matter the genre… this is intensity of connection that moves the needle, one thread at a time.