I Call BS

I suppose it's impossible to be a creator and not get to the point where you look around and see the 23904320948203 other things being created by people 02934092304 times more brilliant and interesting and talented than you ever will be. So, what's the point?

What is the point, when F. Scott Fitzgerald has already written The Great Gatsby? When Bach has already composed, well, everything his name is on? When someone else is running faster, biking longer? Doing more, being more, more more more.

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I mean, come on. Pinterest. Yeah, that.

Busy work isn't my thing. I'm not a process gal. I'm about results. Perfection. I'm the girl who spent four hours a day playing the piano for years, because it was about being able to play that really hard piece where you have to squint to see the white bits of paper in between all the tiny clusters of black notes. Just sitting down and playing the piano for fun? There's no point to that, no goal. I can play for half an hour, but what will I have really done? Even though there is no place on this planet I feel more alive than seated at a piano, somehow that isn't enough without something to measure the experience by.

I can write a little bit here and there, and I can post it on a blog and share it on facebook, but again, what's the point? I'm not writing the next great American novelI'm not writing a book at all. I'm just telling bits and pieces of a fragmented story that nobody knows the ending to living a story I hardly understand myself most days.

More often than not, I choose to *not* write it out. "I'm not very good," I explain. I stumble through bits and pieces of music with clumsy fingers these days, and I stumble through my words in much the same manner, apology always at the ready.

But if I we're talking to you, and let's be clear that I am, here's what I'd say. The world needs you, desperately. Your voice, the space you fill, they have meaning. They are sacred. Those stories, write them out, again and again until you make sense of themand they of youin a new way. Don't do it because you have a goal to reach. Do it because it is what you must do.

Here's what I know. I have a story to tell. I have words in me, and they need to spill out. This laptop and this couchthey are my thin space, where heaven meets earth.

It's no longer enough for me to worry that it's already been done and that I'm not doing it right and that my voice isn't good enough. If it's about waiting for those voices to leave, today I call bullshit. They aren't going to. It's me that has to rise above them. It's us that need to you and me.

Because we are loved, and we are free.

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Posted in Other Home Post Date 05/23/2018


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