i have been pondering the question of passion.
my dad said to me when i was in my early teens
"if you were truly brilliant at something it would manifest at a young age."
I remember thinking, that is crap.
it is still a thought that i hear over and over.
through time I have seen people, who seemed so effortlessly to know exactly
where they wanted to be and what they wanted to do.
what they had a driving passion for.
me. not so much.
i have been thinking a lot about it again lately.
what do i like to do pretty much any time??
i love to write.
it is crazy that i write for no one but me.
it is the piece that keeps me sane.
the piece that brings me comfort.
i get that i have an unconventional style.
a few people of late have been encouraging me to submit certain pieces for competition/submission.
i think about it.
i have a fear of another person editing my work.
my writing is my thoughts.
i don't have any desire to have somebody edit my thoughts.
i don't need somebody messing with them.
i write for personal gratification rather than monetary reasons.
this arrangement suites me.
in this tiny arena, i am beholden to no one.
there are people who can beautifully paint the mundane.
people who are inspired simply by the life around them.
i hope i fall into that catagory.
perhaps my son will have some idea of who i am from my writing.
the person i am, instead of his mother.
the person who attempted to be conscious and document her experiences and the emotion that surrounded them.
(listened to jazz standards mix)