Thirteen years ago, my life changed completely. Looking back I wouldn't have it any differently. It's been a long, dueling ride of figuring out what to keep and get rid of. I try to pack light nowadays.
I used to think I was involuntarily cast in a bad movie, full of outgrown child actors and cliched uses of symbolism, like getting actually rained on when the going was already absolutely down. I used to curse a lot of people under my breath. Two or three, really, but it still felt like a lot. I even called myself 'a conservative' for two consecutive years till I finally found my way back to the middle.
I still think it's all a movie, however, I'm the one writing it this time. It's full of the characters I create, shape, and set out to do my dirty work, of retelling the story that wasn't ready to be told before now. I get trapped in this thinking sometimes, expecting real life events to turn out the way they might in a film, the moment of glory so poignant it defies coincidence. Thirteen years later, walking into a fully crowded room, knowing there's the chance you'll get to share some of the art that has kept you alive all these years, even without having to explain the reasons behind it. Just doing it for yourself, followed by another cliched scene of singing 'you've come a long way, baby' while walking the streets home, utterly relieved to still be breathing.
It doesn't work that way, though, because then the credits would roll. Better to throw in a wrench or two to remind you that art is indeed for you and yourself only, and it is continual.
I used to think I was involuntarily cast in a bad movie, full of outgrown child actors and cliched uses of symbolism, like getting actually rained on when the going was already absolutely down. I used to curse a lot of people under my breath. Two or three, really, but it still felt like a lot. I even called myself 'a conservative' for two consecutive years till I finally found my way back to the middle.
I still think it's all a movie, however, I'm the one writing it this time. It's full of the characters I create, shape, and set out to do my dirty work, of retelling the story that wasn't ready to be told before now. I get trapped in this thinking sometimes, expecting real life events to turn out the way they might in a film, the moment of glory so poignant it defies coincidence. Thirteen years later, walking into a fully crowded room, knowing there's the chance you'll get to share some of the art that has kept you alive all these years, even without having to explain the reasons behind it. Just doing it for yourself, followed by another cliched scene of singing 'you've come a long way, baby' while walking the streets home, utterly relieved to still be breathing.
It doesn't work that way, though, because then the credits would roll. Better to throw in a wrench or two to remind you that art is indeed for you and yourself only, and it is continual.
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