What's Out There

I hate writing. It takes forever. I can pore over a page of my own writing for hours and then return a few days later just to do the exact same thing. That probably means I'm a little too meticulous. What strikes me about the things I've written or anything I've produced for that matter - writings, songs, works of art, sayings - is that they're all so final. Once they're out there, they're out there. Somebody said works of art are never finished - only abandoned.

Does that mean if you're an artist, you're a perfectionist? Maybe - maybe not, but what is for sure is if you're an artist, you'd better be comfortable with process. You can't be all anxious about something if it's not just the way you want it. (You can never reproduce it just like it was in your head, anyway.) Our whole lives are just like that - works of art that are never finished, never complete, never perfect renderings for the world to see. I guess that means you and I better get OK with process, with imperfection. Just when you think you've arrived, there's a whole new horizon unfolding before you.