As a fun way to express my creativity, I love to make Tik Toks with my friends. While they’re far from serious or thought out, I enjoy doing it and experiencing the process of making them and viewing the end result.

Last week during class, we were required to submit a mind map- a string of words that connected to one central word. For my mind map, I decided to try something that related to one of my largest interests, music. I play my guitar as a form of creative expression often, and it is one of my favorite outlets. As a homage to this, I wrote the word “strum” on my guitar, and built my mind map off of that. While I was nervous to write on my guitar, I love the way it turned out, and I think it adds personality and individuality to the instrument.

Everyone possesses qualities they consider to be limitations to their goals, including creative goals. In the Ted Talk we viewed in class, a physical limitation was present that prevented the artist from creating the art he desired to produce. While in producing visual artwork I’ve rarely run into any physical barriers, I’ve certainly experienced them in other forms of expression and outlets. More specifically, in my career as a long distance runner.

Running is, in my opinion, the most demanding sport I have ever participated in. Not only are there significant physical requirements involved in running, there are mental obstacles one must overcome in order to excel in the sport. While my mental stamina and mindset improved with each day of cross country or track practice, my body was unable to always keep up. I ran into multiple physical complications throughout my time running in high school, but the most challenging one by far was a stress fracture that cut my cross country season short, and put me in a boot and crutches for 3 months.

When I received the news that I would be out for the season just as the regional meet was approaching, my stomach immediately dropped. All of the work I put in to prove myself to my coach, my steadily improving times, and my goals of stepping on the line at the state meet suddenly vanished into thin air. I was heartbroken, and didn’t know how I would manage being thrust onto the sidelines, cheering for my teammates that I knew I should’ve been on the course with.

While I allowed myself a few weeks to mourn, I knew it was imperative that I changed my attitude. If I wanted to come back from my injury a stronger, improved athlete, there was no time to feel sorry for myself. The days I would have normally spent running I instead spent cross training at the gym, lifting weights or swimming laps in the pool. I attended physical therapy and carried out my exercises there religiously. I even received acupuncture and massages in order to fix problems that were believed to have caused my injury in the first place.

While my first run back from my injury in January only lasted about five minutes, I had never felt so liberated. Instead of feeling intimidated by the amount of physical toll I would have to endure in order to reach the level of fitness I had achieved months earlier, I viewed my road to recovery as a challenge. I was determined to not only reach my previous times, but had lofty goals to improve them in the next cross country season. And when the time finally came for my first 5k since my injury, I nearly beat my personal record from the previous year, placing first on my team.

I went on to experience the best season of running I ever had thus far, reaching the goals I had set for myself and using the struggle I faced through my injury as fuel to improve upon my skills. I not only became a stronger athlete physically, but mentally as well. While it would have been easy for me to blame any poor performance on my three month absence, I instead worked even harder to not let it define me as a runner. My hard work and determination allowed me to become a leader within my team during my final season of cross country, placing in my regional meet and competing alongside my teammates and closest friends in the state meet. I worked to embrace the struggle the previous year forced upon me in my athletic career, and was rewarded with feelings of accomplishment and sentiments of pride from others. However, more importantly, I was rewarded with fond memories that I will always remember and treasure.

This is a poem I wrote about someone when I couldn’t sleep early Saturday morning.

I’m done feeling used

Beaten down abused

I’m like a tortured artist

And you’re my fucked up muse

I wish I never met you

And your stupid cocky self

Because the more I come to know you

It’s like you’re someone else

So take all of your words

Out of my head where they burn

Like a flaming pile of dog shit

Next to the love you somehow earned

Fuck her fuck her

No, fuck motherfucking you

Because you’re the one I trusted

Who I thought cared about me too

You never gave a shit

I’m just a part of your sick game

To boost your fragile ego

That I tried so hard to tame

I’ll never change you, crazy

Not now, not fucking ever

But I only blame myself

Because I should’ve known better

I’ve been playing the piano since I was about 6. While I don’t play as much when I’m at school and stopped taking lessons years ago, it’s one of my favorite expressions of creativity and always relaxes me when I’m anxious or stressed… despite the fact that I look very tense when I play.

Music is one of my favorite escapes from the different challenges life brings me. I’ve always found playing the piano and guitar to be a creative outlet through which I can channel my emotions, and love to learn songs that reflect how I’m feeling.

I also find a particular comfort in listening to music. Going to concerts is one of my favorite things to do, and I constantly use Spotify to fill any silence I experience during my day, such as relaxing in my room, on my walks to class, or studying. Similarly to playing music, I make playlists full of songs that relate to whatever my current emotional state is. Lately, I’ve been feeling lost and confused in my relationship with a particular person in my life. Every song seems to remind me of him… but particularly the ones in the playlist attached.

Lyrics and messages I can relate to have always helped me get through the lows of my life. While I hate to admit I’m facing a low, I find comfort in putting in headphones and escaping through music.

https://open.spotify.com/user/kathrynseay/playlist/2tgguCmR7e1B08b7MBI2za?si=FqpMfqAoS928sr2OGA83vg

I’m an emotional, sensitive person (as much as I don’t like to admit it), and I cry a lot. But, my emotions tend to serve as fuel for my favorite creative outlets such as drawing, writing, and music.

Here’s a collection of selfies I always seem to take while crying. I considered using this as my self portrait, so this could post be considered supplemental to my first one.

I drew this in class on Thursday with my left hand. I’ve done this exercise in many art classes before, and I’m always pleasantly surprised with how the drawings turn out. I also always find it to be a freeing experience, I allow myself to make looser, less calculated marks and the finished product feels organic and authentic to me. However, I felt like my professor was torturing me by asking to draw the breakfast I wish I could have eaten. So. Hungry.

• 

When I think of my dad, a few things come to mind; his carefree personality, humorous demeanor, passion for food, but above all, his eyes. Wide set, too big for the rest of his face, bright baby blue, and framed by a thick set of jet black eyelashes, they’re perhaps his most defining physical characteristic. This same pair of eyes is a common trait among my siblings and I, one that I’ve constantly been reminded of throughout my life. I can recount an innumerable amount of occasions where the phrase, “Your eyes look just like your Dad’s!” has managed to squeeze itself into conversations with family friends and relatives.

My parents divorced when I was at the young age of four, and while growing up with separate parents has had many different impacts on my life, not all of them are negative. It allowed me to become closer to my dad than I think I would have been able to before. My childhood is filled with fond memories of times with him- summer days at the pool, riding in the backseat of his silver BMW (where he would always show me his secret shortcuts through the city of Louisville), trips to my grandmother’s house, Wednesday nights out for dinner, and so many more.

One of the most important lessons my dad has shared with me is open mindedness- never being afraid to experience new things. This traces back to situations as simple as forcing me to eat food I didn’t want to, which I firmly believe is one of the primary reasons I’ll try anything once. My dad makes it a point to share his passions with me, and show me the world from his own perspective. I admire the way my dad loves the things he loves- he does it in such a strong, unforgiving, unrelenting way. When he’s passionate about something, he makes sure the world knows it, especially the world of his three kids. I was never very thankful for this, as it called for many days full of activities a little girl would typically dread, but these passions have slowly bled into my own over my 20 years. I find myself having more and more in common with my dad every day, as well as a desire to share these discoveries with him. The long hikes I’d be forced on through the Kentucky wilderness are now ones I look forward to, the music he’d play that I would immediately dismiss is now music I find easy to listen to myself.

My eye have become a defining characteristic for me throughout my life, but not just in a physical sense. They serve as a testament to a man I’m proud to call my dad, and the pieces of him that lie within me- his interest in history, his passion for singing (even with subpar vocals), his love for the outdoors, his unmatchable sense of humor (mine will never live up to his), and too many others to name. Whenever I miss my dad, whenever he’s not near when I need him to be, I know I can always find him, especially in my big, blue eyes.