Jump! Keep Jumping!

When I was ten-years-old my parents and I moved into a new house. It was the typical house in the typical neighborhood. It had three bedrooms, two baths, blah, blah blah.

When I was about 14, as I would walk through the house, I would jump and try to touch the ceiling. For the longest time I couldn't quite touch it, but I was getting close.

Eventually, with the tips of my fingers, I could feel the ceiling as my fingers brushed it. I began to have contests with my cousins and friends. By the time I was 17, I could stretch while standing on my toes and touch it. (By this time, my dad would get pissed because he was afraid I was going to leave fingerprints).

Today, when I'm at my mom and dads, I don't even try. I know I can do it and I've set my sights on higher things.

Yesterday my portfolio was returned from Vanity Fair with a hand-written note on a really nice note card. The photo editor thanked me for showing my work.

It seems that once again, I've brushed my fingertips on the ceiling. With a little more growth and hard work I'll touch that ceiling.

Jump! Keep jumping!