Pick yourself up…dust yourself off

So, I’ve been absent for a little while.  I received another rejection, this time from a job opportunity, and then went on a mini-vacation (literally – this is not a metaphor for what has happened to my brain).  It was good timing.  I’ve been wanting to get out of Los Angeles, if at least for a few days, and regain some perspective.  I haven’t been away since last Thanksgiving and the walls have been closing in.

On the drive in and out of town there is such darkness and calm; there are stars enough to resemble a layer of glitter across a vast expanse and for miles in all directions you can feel like the only one in existence.  Those moments allow you to reflect on your life, your choices, your present course and remind you how small and insignificant you are in the face of such infinite wonder.  It’s not as if I had some grand epiphany, but I did reflect on my current situation and come to terms with the fact that there is truly nothing else I’d rather do.  I don’t always know where the story ideas come from, but they keep coming (fingers crossed/knock on wood)…so what else would I do?

The life of an artist, any type of creative, is a difficult one.  We not only have to produce the work but then try to make everyone else take notice of it and hopefully pay us for it so we can survive a little longer in order to produce another work.  I don’t think we, artists, choose this life willingly.  We have no other option.  For who would choose to be poor, take menial jobs to survive, spend hours upon hours alone, have your family continually tell you to find a “real” job, have naysayers demean your value, etc?  This is the hand we were dealt, and without us the world would be a very different, boring, lacking in imagination, and colorless place.

So take heart, have faith in yourself and your work, and continue on!  Surround yourself with people who encourage and support you, for they are the ones who make this journey bearable and help you retain any amount of sanity.  Here are two of mine (when they were babies) —



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s