Gemotions

The list, penned in her mother's elegant hand, felt like a message from beyond. “Take a pottery class.” Her mother had always been the creative one; she, the pragmatist. A slow smile spread across her face.

She felt a pull, a magnetic draw toward something new, something exciting. She enrolled in a beginners' class that very day, the clay cool and yielding beneath her fingertips. A lightness bloomed inside her.

The next day, she woke with a new sense of purpose, a feeling that something wonderful was just around the corner. She would create. She would build. She would finally *live*.