She saw herself in the freedom of other Artists. The way they wisped through life in an air of self gratification, referring to themselves as free spirits created by their craft. She watched as they blew smoke from their lips, drank till dawn and slept all day. The stereotype called to her, inviting her to join her kind, to do as she pleased and then blame the inner Artist. But she could not. Her journey so far along the straight and narrow road had stunted her bravery. Rather than falling over dodgy pathways with grace, landing flat on her face and into her destiny, she was locked in a cage of conformity.