I'm supposed to be writing music right now, not my blog. Why are distractions so compellingly more interesting than the thing I'm ostensibly passionate about? Am I burning out from sheer anxiety?
No, probably not. Most probable reality: I hate sucking at something, so I avoid it until "inspiration" (which is usually code for "shedding of artistic inhibitions") strikes and I can once again feel supremely confident in my work.
Anyone else feel this psychotic?
I have something like nine songs in various states of undress, so to speak. And I keep starting new ones. I'm a great starter - terrible on the follow through. "I want my songs to be good!" I'll keep telling myself. "I want to astonish!"
Set the bar high enough, and it can be perpetually just out of reach. And I can blame someone/something else. "Sigh, I would have if only I'd had this one more thing...."
The truth might simply be I just haven't put in enough time. Not the right time, anyway. I thought if I could just ponder it enough, from just the right perspective, I could outsmart, short-circuit and capture The System, finally claiming what I knew all along to be rightfully mine: adoration.
Or something like that. Crippling insecurity gets the best of anyone in this business. We might be conduits to another world, but we're firmly rooted here.
Was this supposed to be easy?
1 comment:
I understand what you mean. I have the same thing happen to me from time to time with writing and drawing. Sometimes the hardest part of doing the project(s) is just sitting down and doing it. Once you force yourself to do that, you'd be surprised how much you actually get done and how quickly the time passes.
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