I’m still in a watching and waiting mode. It’s mainly a time management thing. The wants butt up against the responsibilities right now. And aside from work, my personal responsibilities are heavy. I feel so un-participatory in many factions of my life. Some days it’s a struggle to even be on social media.
I don’t want my year-end to close with celebratory gifts and endless List of (ANY) thing to do-read-buy, etc… Tis the season for listicals… And this will be the first year in many I (am) will ignore any list of books to read. Most are shit anyway. Tapping into the library database means I can freely (literally and figuratively) stop and start as much as I want. Like people, much to weed through. Be selective. Though, also makes me hopeful about my story, about stories I want to tell.
My story is tied to this very moment in my life. A culmination. It’s both what I want to write and what I can’t find the words for. The pain.
Do you know, my biggest fear about being on stage and singing my songs isn’t the being on stage and singing my songs part. It’s the starting to cry part. It’s the absolute real fear I will start to cry while singing. Because it’s happened. And it still happens. It happens often when I write. It’s always been about the healing.
I wonder when I’ll start being real. When I’ll really letting myself be me. This is what I want, it’s the only thing I want.
What’s the point of dreams if they aren’t grandiose
What’s the point of make believe if a circle needs to fill a hole
We sit in commiseration
this is mistaken
Gripped by silence when we’d rather shout
What’s the point of doubt?
Doubt is a piece of a song still unsung