“Trouble is only opportunity in work clothes.”~Henry Kaiser

I remember when I linked my goal plan (blogged a couple of posts ago) to my Facebook page I got a lot of encouragement but also quite a few people warning me of the need to be flexible and to shift a few goal posts along the way. I was also warned to be open to shelving things if they just weren’t happening for now.

Well…that was almost a month ago now and it’s well past time for some reflection. Especially in view of some dropped balls that smashed rather completely beyond repair. The first very glaring fact is that I can’t do everything I’ve taken on in the chosen time frame. It’s disappointing. I also have to admit here that even attempting it all meant that I mismanaged some ordinary everyday parts of life that led some tension. Not to mention messing up a really good chance to get some music published and near-terminally neglecting the promo of a gig coming up this weekend that I was really looking forward to. My resulting feelings of disappointment, fear and guilt are like little hard indigestible stones in my stomach. That’s where the title quote comes in. I feel this is such a golden opportunity to be true myself in ways I never have before.

I know that as a musician and entertainer, I’m supposed to smile and wave, pretend to be indestructible and generally always project success. But I don’t want to pretend. Instead I’d rather those who felt uncomfortable with sharing my failures found greener pastures. I have found peace with my intention to earn a living out of more ‘functional’ music and if things get rough there’s always a few more places I can wash dishes. At times like these I’m so glad that Steve and I bought such a humble place and have the resulting humble debt.

What that leaves is the freedom to be an artist.

I’ve had such a great time in the bands I’ve been involved in, and I believe together amongst all of our combined output (and despite the pressure to make it pay the bills) we have made some truly good art.  The restless growth of an artist is harsh though, and never lets you stay in one place for long. If you do, you end up stuck in a soul-less and vicious cycle of  imitating the person you were when that project reached its zenith. That would be like Dali painting melting clocks forever, or Picasso never getting past liberally squeezing blue paint on his palette, or Miles staying safely in his ‘Kind of Blue’ dorian haze. Not that I am claiming kinship to any of these free souls. I don’t know whether I will ever open myself and clear the way for THAT kind of expression. What exquisitely painful, bright bliss they must have known so often.

I only claim the right to feel alive when I play music, though it’s scary to have been so long in the habit of people pleasing.  I have decided for the first time to open myself to music for myself without being led by my perception of anyone’s reaction, and then just offer it up to see if anyone else is moved by it.

I hereby declare my music my own precious, perfect statement of who I am now.

"Old Guitarist" by Picasso

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