Waking slowly from my exhaustive week, three new gigs, a wedding to plan, a guy that seems to think I am not terrible, the ongoing series of paintings in the shack of a barn I call my studio which have been saying not such nice things about my dedication to their development, I realize I've been overly concerned about meeting the needs of those around me.
Let's not forget the neighborhood. The neighborhood seems to think that I've been neglecting them, that I owe them a little more of myself.
It's not that I stopped caring, I care an awful lot. Unwilling to apologize for not meeting someone's fantasy version of me, I stopped trying. I cannot live that many versions of me. These days the goal rarefies: be kind; be honest; be yourself as frequently and fully as possible.
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