Still becoming...

Wondering what to take seriously in my own widespread enthusiasms and depressions.

I feel passionately that I would like to focus my energies into art: writing and music. There is a part of me loud, protesting- who do I think I am to devote myself to anything? You're no writer, you're no musician. Just a sometimes loveable fuck up.

It's still hard for me to figure what when where why I want to write. I look at my unimpressive collection of work for the past year and wonder if I have what it takes. You need a level of discipline, unforgiving scrutiny of the self and motivation. You need to actually put pen to paper, and looking back on this year, I have much less than I thought I did, much less than I would like to have accomplished- to point at and validate my own search and craving- but is this just an ego game? Maybe. Writing massive piles of stuff, or a half notebook full- I feel writing must be a part of my identity, a part of my humanity, a part of my sanity. All in one. With this in front of me I have only one choice, whether to nurture this or not. Either way it is there. I have been writing since I knew how, collecting little scraps and notebooks- developing plots. It seems useless and self defeating to fight, so my answer is to really think about this and to dive in. Don't hold anything back. Write about the most mundane moment. Write about the most abstract and intangible. Just write. Daily. And I have been failing myself here, but I can't allow that to continue.

Music is beginning to enter this realm. Not a day goes by where I do not sing. I crave it as a part of my daily life, feel fractured and stunted without music in my day. I would one day like to take a stab at song writing.


This is just musing, maybe re-prioritizing.

I'm fucking hungry now, so maybe I'll eat! :) Food should also be included with these other essentials!