There are fleeting moments: moments when I read another's words, see a picture on a blog or a thought scampers through my mind. Fleeting moments that when I try to capture them in my two hands, like I used to try and catch fireflies as a child on warm Virginia nights, I open my hands to find the moment gone, flitting away. In those desperate moments, my heart sings and my mind smiles, content. For in that single, fleeting moment, I see a glimpse of what and who I want to be: who I really am at my core, stripped of years of academic training and corporate indoctrination that has thought me to shun risk and flee to the safety of predictable boredom. I so desperately want to throw my arms around the person that I know is inside, because inside, I see the real me: a young girl who is vibrant, wild even, who embraces risk and life. I want to tell her that it is ok to come out from her hiding place and that she is free to explore and stretch, to awaken from years of sleep and fear. I will tell her that no one is going to yell at her or scorn her for her thoughts or her ways. She is welcome. I am still trying to understand who she is, what she does with her days and what her life looks like. Yet every time I try and get a close look, her features fade to fuzzy and she runs away. Perhaps all that I can do at this stage is tell her that she is welcome and know that at her own pace, she will emerge and we will become one.