Being an artist is about recovering “the artist’s way”. Being a writer is about writing. Anywhere, anyhow. But, how to get it out there?
There’s got to be a way and the process is important. How long does it take for us to realize our voice matters? However small, however seemingly insignificant.
The process is messy and complicated, whatever it is this thing we’re trying to do. To survive, to thrive, and learning how thin that line can be. Leaning identity and fluidity and flexibility and freedom. That’s a lot. It’s about being truthful to the point of epiphany, but no further, and not irrelevantly.
It’s about realizing it can always get worse to the point of gratitude and that it can always get better to the point of hope.
Black swans can be a rare burden or a rare beauty, but it’s all about the environments we put ourselves in and the mindset we enter upon them in. Set and setting to the extent we can manage it.
Where is the line between inside and out? Between what’s in here in my space and what’s put out there on “MySpace”? How much of us is left over when we leave? And for how long does it last? And to what extent does it matter?
It seems writers find themselves writing, generating thoughts on paper, possibly not the originator, almost certainly not, but at least the scriber, the carver, the sculptor. At least we picked up a f***ing pencil, a chisel, made a mark.
For we don’t know what the second half of the game will bring. What thousands of years of change can accomplish, but in both cases, it can span from the awfully mundane and disappointing, to the utterly life-transforming and culture shifting, history-making. We can loose in the second half as so many games have been lost in the past or we can win in a shoot out with the most spectacular saves yet to come. We can leave art that’s temporary or that lives for thousands of years, not everything is up to us. Only what we do with what we’re given, the choices we make, the setting we find or put ourselves in and the mindset with which we navigate that time and space.
The best way to appreciate the past and the future is to appreciate the present. We’re given every second, every moment the opportunity to ourselves be present and enjoy and experience it, and a present we’re not fully aware of or present to becomes a past we struggle with, and this can accumulate like a snowball if not regularly trimmed (or subtracted) off. We must carry with us only enough past for us to be able to truly appreciate the present.
Both great writing and terrible writing deter one from writing; in the former you hesitate to muddy the page or bring the impact per word ratio down by writing any further, and in the latter, what’s the point. It is in resisting being too terrible for too long that we write, and with the hope that the well that sprung greatness keeps on giving for as long as we’re willing to work the pump. Keep pumping. Keep writing.
Of all the most wonderful and okay things I’ve ever read or seen or enjoyed, they were all once written. The adventure of the sport is on the field my friend, get on the field, admission is practicing your craft to the point of having something to fight with, or for, or towards. Fight may not be the right word; enjoy working towards, play on towards, etc.
I’m left wondering what the right balance is between the mania of motivation and the mania of depression and regularity. For example, writing or working in general. What’s the balance between it shouldn’t feel like work and sometimes everything feels like work. Maybe it’s that, on the worst days everything look that same as before, but on the best days, we’re living as close to our mission and identity as possible.
Turns out, if you put time and energy into your passions and mission in life, there’s not too much time and energy left over for the less important stuff.
So I’ve decided I need to get things done and “out there” in the meantime, because there’s no clean start. There’s no “clean” anything. Life is messy. We work and are healthy in spurts, we’re sick and idle in spurts, the boundaries between everything get foggier with time, and time seems to be generally mucking everything about anyway.
William Hung recently mentioned in an interview that he was content with his efforts, his life, past present and future. What a beautiful, courageous, and awesome outlook. It’s heroic.
That’s what I want to aspire to in my world, in my space and time, my present. Being heroic. Accepting my past, present, and future. Learning to love my past and present to the point of gratitude so that I can look to my future with hope.