I’ve been trying to sleep for the past three hours. It doesn’t help that my back has been spasming and I’m in enough pain to be legitimately afraid of sneezing.
Watching YouTube videos of The Tonight Show on my phone isn’t helping to distract my mind.
I’m dreaming about a video I’ve been wanting to create for several years. This time, however, I’m just pissed thinking about it.
Why am I here and not in Brazil? I bought a ticket for the month of January, booked an apartment on the beach with fellow dancers, and had lined up a month of working with my favorite Zouk teachers.
But my gut was pleading with me to cancel the trip. To stay in NYC and create. Create art. Teach. Write.
And I’m pissed right now because I have a computer that’s a graveyard full of partially completed video projects and written pieces. They’re sitting there as I do anything I can everyday to avoid sitting my ass down and hitting “Publish”.
I’ll go on YouTube, watch porn, smoke weed, and eat half a tray of brownies, but the one thing that I seem incapable of doing is the one thing I’ve been aching to do for years - make art.
Actually...getting angry like this feels like a step in the right direction.
But I need to take another melatonin pill now to fall asleep. It’s fuckin 6am.
I’m starving but my back is still in enough pain to make getting up off the couch a delicate 45 second ordeal.
I finally got to the kitchen to make some oatmeal. While the water was boiling and the new Macklemore jam was playing it began to make sense why it’s been so hard to create.
I’m afraid. Man, I am really afraid.
To make art has been all I’ve wanted for a very, very long time. And to be making a sincere effort on that front is bringing up every form of Resistance.
What if I’m not good enough to bring to life what I’ve wanted to create?
What if what I create sucks?
What if it’s embarrassing?
The beautiful part of this realization was that nothing needed to be examined with these fears.
It’s just time to change who’s in the driver’s seat. Frightened little ben is going to sit in the back seat while big Ben takes the wheel.
My favorite art is the kind that makes you realize that you’re not alone while you’re wandering through the dark.
So there’s no call to action or moral of this story other than to say to my fellow wanderers and creators trying to find their way home:
I see you, homie.
You’re doing great.
We got this.