Esteem, Ambition, and the Art That Holds Our Stories

Today in group we talked about esteem — that level in Maslow’s hierarchy where we start to understand our worth not by perfection, but by the courage to keep showing up. The quote we discussed stuck with me even though I didn’t write it down word-for-word: when you reach for hard things in life, you should expect to fall short sometimes. Missing the mark isn’t failure — it’s the cost of ambition.

That hit home more than I expected. I’ve put myself out there a lot in my life. And each time, I demanded and expected perfection… like anything less meant I wasn’t enough. But life is louder and more complicated than that. So I’m learning to temper my expectations — not by shrinking my ambition, but by giving myself permission to stumble, adjust, and keep climbing. Mindfulness makes that possible. It gives me room to breathe instead of tearing myself apart for being human.

This mindset is exactly why I started learning to tattoo and deepening my art. Letting that hidden part of myself come forward took guts. Starting Honor and Ink was the same move — choosing to build something that could help others navigating loss, pain, or memories that sit heavy in the chest.

For Artist Hour, I was asked to draw a pinup girl, so I folded her into a hot rod piece I’d already sketched. It was fun, bold, and full of that classic energy — flames roaring behind the car, and the figure confidently posed. The whole scene feels like someone owning their space without apology.

But the second piece I worked on carried a different weight.

I reworked a drawing of an eagle gripping two tridents — a tribute to two friends I deployed with who never made it home. Behind the eagle is an anchor wrapped in rope, but the rope is frayed and broken at the end. That break says everything. Their lives were cut short, and yet their memory continues to anchor me. The American flag wraps through the wings, not for show, but because service, sacrifice, and loss are woven into who we are.

Tattoos and art give shape to things most people struggle to put into words. They let us honor the fallen in ways that feel real and personal. They let us hold onto stories that matter — not by freezing time, but by carrying those memories forward with intention.

For me, creating pieces like these is mindfulness in motion. It keeps me grounded. It reminds me why I push myself, why I stay ambitious, and why setbacks are just part of the road. And it’s my hope that Honor and Ink can offer that same sense of meaning to anybody walking in with their own story, their own grief, or their own need to honor someone they love.

As we approach Thanksgiving, I am striving to be more intentional about my gratitude toward life.  For those following me and supporting me I am truly grateful.  Honoring the fallen, creating for the living, and staying grateful for every step in between.

If any of this resonates with you — if you’re holding a memory that deserves ink or art — reach out. I’m here, and together we can turn that story into something that lasts.