Dear you,
It's 2:59am and in three days I'm making the single piece of art I've been working on for the last eight years, give or take. It will take four days to film. It will be twenty minutes long. So why did it take so long?
I've asked that a lot over the years. 'What's wrong with me?' and 'Who even cares anymore?' filled my thoughts for the better part of a decade. Given, it was an unusual eight years. The story I wanted to make came to me at a very strange time in my life, I think. A time I could see farther than I could reach.
I've done some hiking since then. Up hills, down roads. I'm twenty-seven now. The sky looks different than it did eight years ago, as does the world under it. And I know now, what I should have known then: it simply wasn't time.
I can reach out and touch the trees now. The grass, too. I can see the next valley, and I can go. There's a wind to my back and plenty of daylight left. When I look over my shoulder, I smile.
It's been more than a year since I've visited this place, this blog. More than a year since I've stared at the pink bird on the background. Hope really is the thing with feathers.
I don't know what's next, exactly. But I have a faith of sorts; a trust in the wind. Just like pain 'demands to be felt', art demands to be made. This adversarial relationship - it's a part of this world, just like me.
I can hear the music, I can sing the melody. We're singing it together now. And that's the key, I think.
Until then,
Solstice Everston
You have always been an echo of my thoughts, even ten years later.
ReplyDelete"I'm twenty-seven now. The sky looks different than it did eight years ago, as does the world under it. And I know now, what I should have known then: it simply wasn't time."
I just turned 27, and I've been realizing this too.
I'm ready now.
I'm glad I waited.
(Sorry for never commenting back - it took me this long to figure out how to make these comment sections work. Guess now is the time for that too, yeah?)