There are certain moments that come along when the choices are laid out clearly before you, and you know you will have to say goodbye to something that has become a part of you, in order to lay claim to another part of you that may be more hidden and obscure.
For years, I have been circling… no, lurking is probably a better word… around the soul of my creativity. She has lived in a shadow world that I visit mostly in my night time dreams, and sometimes during the frustrated day dreams that distract me from whatever business at hand I should be dealing with at the moment. I have used her as a justification for avoiding responsibility and for indulging impulses. She has been my running partner through years of mischief and then later through years of sacrifice and forbearance. I have loved her and hated her and envied her, for her unbridled courage and open fuck-you to anyone and anything that gets in her way.
And how I have longed for her. I have wished that I could just throw my arms open to her and embrace her with the fierceness reserved for those lovers who are star crossed or who have otherwise looked death in the eye. Instead, I have kept her in a secret place, barricaded behind walls of guilt and shame and the fear of clarity and its partner, judgement. I have opted for obfuscation, and the blurring of distinctions between what I’ve really wanted and what others have wanted me to do. I have bided my time. I have been lazy. I have been afraid. I have been foolish.
This blog is a testament to my almostness… My creative soul lives here, but I rarely bring around my friends or colleagues to sit with her. I share with them my chatter about work, and projects and other people’s music and musings. I immerse myself in conversations about commerce and communication and other people’s suffering. But here is where you’ll find the truth about me. Here is where I’ll show you how I’m really feeling, and what touches me deeply. The things I think about because I’m not supposed to think about them, or the things that haunt me because they could have been, might have been or should have been. Or shit I just feel like saying, without having to justify why…
I no longer believe in instant karma, as in a song that heals wounds or a play that changes the world. I now believe that real change is borne of many, many cumulative choices over time, coupled with as many accidents of fate. Having weathered the impatience of my youth, and the repeated construction and deconstruction of my ego, I’m comfortable enough with myself now to view the impending turn of my fifth decade with a sense of relief and wonder. The preciousness of my words no longer completely overwhelms me… I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter that much who likes my writing and who doesn’t. That will constantly change, and I will be delighted and disappointed many times over.
What I do know is that it’s no longer OK to sequester whole parts of me, especially my creative soul, to a dark corner of the internet akin to a deserted part of town. If I’m supposedly such a good communicator, then I should be able to talk about my own work, and share it with others, and be willing to participate in the conversations it stimulates. Yes, I should…
So here I am, putting it out there yet again. Each time I write one of these pieces that feels like a cross between a confessional and an attempt to articulate a grand world view, I care a little less about what someone will think when they read it, and a little more about what I’ve just gotten out of the way and how I’ve cleared the road for the next thing… I can’t wait to struggle with the next concept and practice letting it flow out of me like something tasty and delicious that I love to savor and share and savor some more. God it feels so fucking good to write. I just want to keep doing it…