Ink is black and sticky. Spilt ink is messy. It stains. It lingers and reminds us of that time we spilled the tube over—or someone spilled it over onto our laps and, unexpectedly, we were sitting in spilt ink.

We all have spilt ink in our lives. But it’s not the ink that matters; it is what we do with it. What magic we create and what wonders we bring into the world, especially in a volatile time when so much ink is being spilled. We can sit in the mess or just wipe it away—or we can make something beautiful from it. Don’t just sit in spilt ink, create.