Day One: Window Seat and Watercolors

A journal entry from the sky — where noticing becomes art.

I’m writing this somewhere over the Atlantic, legs stretched out, a cloth napkin in my lap, and a tiny glue stick tucked discreetly in the seatback pocket next to the menu.

But this journal entry started long before I opened my tray table and sharpened my watercolor pencils.

It started at the gate, while I was pacing with quiet excitement, holding my passport like it might disappear.

It started when I decided to document this trip as it was happening—not later, not when the scenery was prettier, not when the moment felt more “art-worthy.”

Just real. Just present.

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Afternoon: The Lounge + The Nudge to Begin

I arrived early—on purpose.

There’s something about having time to settle before a big adventure that helps me soften and breath again.

I found a small table near the window in the airport lounge and pulled out my sketchbook before I could talk myself out of it.

Around me: hushed voices, soft clinking dishes, and someone watching a Spanish movie without headphones.

I made three swatches in the margin:

• Soft blush pink – a woman’s silk scarf

• Warm granite – the table under my orange juice

• French ultramarine – the glow of the departure board

Then I wrote:

“I’m not waiting to feel ready. I’m already in it.”

I sketched my orange juice glass and the crumbs on my plate.

Just enough to say: I was here.

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Early Evening: Somewhere Over the Atlantic

Where I sat felt like a small cocoon of peace. I had room to breathe, room to make.

I opened my sketchbook again—this time more confidently—and started drawing the curve of the window, the tilt of the light, the way the clouds folded into the wing.

I jotted down a line I overheard from the row behind me:

“I always forget my French until the taxi door shuts.”

That sentence deserved to be remembered.

I taped in my boarding pass, scribbled a contour sketch of my own hand holding a pen, and added a short reflection:

"This is the in-between. No longer where I was. Not yet where I’m going. But art lets me be fully here."

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Evening: Quiet and Grounded

Dinner arrived in tiny porcelain dishes.

A mushroom risotto, a fig tart, and a glass of water with lemon.

I painted the tart. Loosely, with too much purple. Then I labeled it:
“Fig. Sweet. Real. Enough.”

I didn’t try to make it perfect. I tried to make it honest.

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Palette of the Day

• Blush pink – scarf and sunrise

• Ultramarine – boarding signs and sky

• Pale fig – dessert and softness

• Mushroom brown – comfort and grounding

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What I want to remember:

I didn’t wait until Provence.

I didn’t wait for better light.

I started at the gate.

I kept going in the air.

I made something, because I said I would.

And that’s the kind of artist I want to be.

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You don’t have to wait until you're somewhere magical to begin.

You don’t need to have it all figured out, or even know what to draw.

You just need to notice.

And trust that whatever shows up—color, emotion, texture, thought—deserves a place on the page.

These prompts aren’t here to guide you toward perfection.

They’re here to guide you home to your own seeing, feeling, and starting.

Take a breath.

Take your time.

Let these be your gentle entry point into your Day One.

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Day One Journal Prompts: The Art of Beginning

1. What’s the light like where you are right now?
Describe it in color, mood, and energy. Is it harsh? Soft? Glowing? Dull but honest?

2. What colors are calling to you today?
Choose three and swatch them. Why those? What do they remind you of?

3. What’s something small you saw today that made you feel something?
A moment, a texture, an expression. Sketch it or describe it with words.

4. What did you overhear, observe, or quietly notice that stuck with you?
Maybe it was a sentence, a detail, a pause in conversation. Write it down—raw and out of context.

5. How did you start today?
Did you dive in? Hesitate? Try and fail? Begin again?
Write it without judgment.

6. What would it look like if starting was enough?
Not finishing. Not perfecting. Just… beginning.
Reflect on how that changes your experience.

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Wherever you are—on a plane, in a quiet room, or sitting at a café with a wrinkled napkin and a view—know this:

Starting is enough.

Noticing is art.

And this page you just filled? It counts.

More tomorrow.

I’ll be here with jet lag, my journal and my heart wide open.

Love,
Lynn