Good Enough

“You’re an artist when you say you are. And you’re a good artist when you make somebody else experience or feel something deep or unexpected.” - Amanda Palmer, The Art of Asking

I question every submission on this blog before I post it, asking myself in some way or another: “Is this good enough?” Hoping in futility that if enough people notice, I will suddenly become “known”. I will be Gretchen, the Writer. I will be able to say “I am an artist”, and others will agree. I will be legitimized; validated.

The reason this is futile can be found in perfect summary in Amanda Palmer’s words, above. I am already an artist. I don’t have to be known, or good enough, or a viral phenomenon, for this to be true. For these are fantasies at best, and vain ones at that. Vanity is not my aim, nor is it my motivation. I do, however, desire to move people. I want them to connect to my words. Not because they are mine, but because I know the feeling, that beautiful feeling, of reading another person’s work and feeling the loneliness dissipate; as if your soul has found a friend, even if you should never meet. I want others to experience this feeling of connecting to something bigger than oneself. I want to be part of proliferating those experiences, so that they may pass on their own inspiration.

So I will continue to write, and I will encourage others to do the same. Choose your art. Stake your claim as an artist. Be it writing, music, visual arts, photography, design – Do it for the love of the craft. Do it for the love of connection. Do it for those people in the world, like myself, who are seeking to experience “something deep or unexpected.”

Echoes

I am happy. Contented. For the most part.

I am happy, but I feel like crying, for I am also sad. Mourning, slowly. It feels more like savoring; soaking up every moment.

It is an absolute refusal to take anyone – any moment – for granted.

Breathing. This is my focus while I wait, while I enjoy. I look around at the smiling faces. My family and friends carrying on joyously. Their lives continuing on, busy and full. Mine… Soon to change dramatically.

I see myself standing amongst them. I am still, and they are buzzing about me, a blur of color, light and sound.

Time passes. The sound fades, the colors soften, and they are gone. I am alone with the light. It is lonely here, where touch becomes memory, and laughter is but an echo.

The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new.

Socrates

Homeward Bound

Momentum.

Although I am sitting in a relatively quiet, air-conditioned cafe, my heart races. If I sit still enough, I can count the beats by the thump in my chest.

I feel the winds of change flowing in and through me. A transition has begun.

Letting go. Stepping forth. Savoring every aspect of the here and now, knowing I will be releasing it and grasping a new present in a new place.

There is a fear of loneliness that casts the sheerest shadow on the light of my excitement. My anticipation shines with vibrance nonetheless.

There is a gratitude for the beauty of my life that swells within me. A balloon in my chest. Full and weightless, I float. Hovering, I step away – step towards. The momentum carries me.

Away.

The momentum is swift, and sure. A steady stream of events and energy. Leaping over boulders as if pebbles, running toward the ocean, toward opportunity.

It is quiet. My heart beats louder with every inch gained. I am coming home.

Heart Beat

Momentum.
The cafe is quiet, air conditioned,
and my heart races.
I sit still,
and count the beats by the thump in my chest.

The energy of change flows through, and from, me.
A transition has begun.
Letting go.
Stepping forth.
Savoring every aspect of the “here & now”,
knowing I will be releasing it, and grasping
a new present in a new place.

There

These are my Little Girl dreams

To live to write and to write to live.

To travel.

To live in sunshine, a stone’s throw from the ocean.

To be a mother in a happy marriage.

To be fit and healthy; vibrant.

For stress to be a stranger to my home, to my heart.

To live paradoxically; independent and in community,

Passionately and consistently,

with adventure and stability -

Full of love, full of life.

These are my youngster hopes. My version of a princess’ tale. The wishes of a fresh heart. A glance into the window of my future. Call me naive, if you will. Call me anything you like. I will simply smile in reply. Someday you may make your way into a book of mine.

A slice of NOLA

I am exceedingly happy. It’s the Bayou Boogaloo in New Orleans. My dear friend Brian is off to work and I am left to my wanderings. I followed the music here, to the Boogaloo. I begin by buying some slightly overpriced photography. A price I gladly pay to support a passionate, independent artist. I hope someday people will do the same for me.

With merchandise in tow I meander over to the Bayou’s edge to sit and people-watch in one of the best cities to do so. My bum is quite literally on the pavement as my skirt is not long enough to provide a barrier, but it is warm and I am in love. I am in love with the raw, real, moment-by-moment energy that radiates from every noun in this town.

Everything is positively saturated with color. The music, the people, the food. Nothing is monochromatic. Even the gamut of minor physical discomforts (more often than not related to the humidity) provide an edge to the bliss that make it altogether joyous.

I wander over to the stage where the Funky Dawgs Brass Band is warming up for their performance. I am impressed from the start. Alone, but not in the least lonely, I dance to my content.

There is all kinds of dancing happening around me, some of which is just shy of twerking. At first glance, this seems entirely inappropriate, but it is suddenly validated (to a certain extent) as one of the band members puts down his trumpet and begins to rap. Following close behind is a chorus which repeats: “Shake what yo mama gave you”.

My experience is punctuated by observing something that both touches and amuses me. I turn to see a woman with bilateral above the knee amputations dancing in her motorized scooter as if it is the last thing she will do. The sun seems to shine directly from her ebony cheeks as the curls of her fantastic weave bounce about her shoulders. Being toted along with her is her Shitzu, who sits in a wide-open carrying case where her feet would’ve been. His expression reads: This is just another day in New Orleans.

And it is.