When I first started my journey in the Maker tradition, I was determined to go through the whole training program and be the best shamanic practitioner — the best seer, the most finessed healer, the most… well, everything. I envisioned myself as being a beacon of shamanic expertise, effortlessly mastering every technique and practice, confidently wielding wisdom like a mystical Swiss Army knife, ready for every possible question a student may bring up.

Turns out, I’m not a master of anything in particular. Not yet, anyway. What I am, however, is someone who moves with enthusiasm, tries new things with curiosity, and somehow manages to make most of my intents work. I’m a "jack of all trades, master of none," and guess what? I think I've finally come to accept it.

Like many, my knowledge of my ancestral heritage is a bit fuzzy.

On my mother’s side, I know about the healers who quietly performed miracles in their attics and left behind a grimoire filled with Christian references that masked a touch of mystery. I even inherited the family’s crystal ball while clearing out the old farmhouse. Over time, I found myself naturally connecting with my ancestors -- especially through simple herbal remedies that proved invaluable when I was a young adult helping friends who couldn’t afford healthcare. Experiences that might seem “nonordinary” to others felt normal to me, especially since my sister also shared them.