Last week, I stood at a pair of shiny gates. They were large and brass. They were closed.
Beyond the gates looked like Mount Olympus. I saw cotton-candy clouds and a glimmering palace decked in gold. Everything felt radiant, good, powerful.
I was flooded with knowing. But I sensed two contradictory things:
(1) This next step was so easy! All I had to do to was walk through the gates, and I would enter a new, beautiful life.
(2) Were I to do this, there would be extreme, earth-shattering danger and pain.
Suddenly, everything felt dark and smokey. The storm cloud of fear.
The truth was, my skin was too thin, my lungs too earthly to breathe in the new air. If I crossed into Olympus, I would disintegrate into nothing.
I wasn't "good enough" for this new atmosphere, this new altitude. I wouldn't be able to survive at a higher level.
As I hesitated I turned to my right and noticed a large figure. An ogre-type being who I was knew was there to pummel me to death if I tried to walk up the...
Well, well, well....if it isn't Fel. (<-- love 2 speak about myself in the third person and simultaneously rhyme)
I write to you now from my home office, which has become a true caricature of itself. The MUSIC PRODUCER AT WORK! Wires, cords, microphones, MIDI controllers, opened boxes, bubble wrap. But somehow there is order in the chaos.
I'm makin-da-sweet music.
And in the process, making myself.
Er. "Making myself" might not be the best phrase.
It occurred to me that the field of self-improvement should be called "self-clarification." Cuz there's nothing to improve.
Growth feels more like stripping away than building up. Stripping away what I was told to be and feel, groping around in the dark for the silhouette of my essential self. Like finding a melody through the noise.
The act of making music has helped me (forced me?) to do this. It's been....wild.
I've been asking myself:
Who am I, independent of judgment, shame, and the rules that were randomly laid...