If you can’t do what you long to do, go do something else. Go walk the dog, go pick up every bit of trash on the street outside your home, go walk the dog again, go bake a peach cobbler, go paint some pebbles with brightly colored nail polish and put them in a pile. You might think it’s procrastiantion, but – with the right intention – it isn’t; it’s motion. And any motion whatsoever beats inertia, because inspiration will always be drawn to motion.
Do what you love to do, and do it with both seriousness and lightness. At least then you will know that you have tried and that – whatever the outcome – you have traveled a noble path.
In ancient Greek, the word for the highest degree of human happiness is eudaimonia, which basically means “well-daemoned” – that is, nicely taken care of by some external divine creative spirit guide.
In the end, it seems to me that forgiveness may be the only realistic antidote we are offered in love, to combat the inescapable disappointments of intimacy.
I only meant that there was a place within my imagination so fathomlessly deep that the light of the real world could never touch it.
Having money saved is not quite the same thing as having a plan, mind you – but it does start to make a girl feel as though a plan could someday be possible.
She did not need a library; she was a library.
Because when it all comes together, it’s amazing. When it all comes together, the only thing you can do is bow down in gratitude, as if you have been granted an audience with the divine. Because you have.
Your creative work is not your baby; if anything, you are its baby.
Yet I can tell you that there was a lonely and untenanted corner of my heart that I’d never known was there – and Frank moved right into it. Holding him in my heart made me feel like I belonged to love itself. Although we never lived together or shared a bed, he was always a part of me. I saved stories for him all week, so I would have good things to tell him. I asked for his opinions, because I respected his ethics.
The drums are slamming, rhythmic, exciting. As the minutes pass, it feels to me like we are collectively pulling the year 2004 toward us. Like we have roped it with our music, and now we are hauling it across the night sky like it’s a massive fishing net, brimming with all our unknown destinies. And what a heavy net it is, indeed, carrying as it does all the births, deaths, tragedies, wars, love stories, inventions, transformations and calamities that are destined for all of us this coming year.
Her sadness was ceaseless, but she kept it quarantined in a governable little quarter of her heart. It was the best she could do.
I am openly prideful, secretly judgemental, and cowardly in conflict.
She was paying me the compliment of her undivided attention, and thus I was instantly smitten.
The image of the tragic artist who lays down his tools rather than fall short of his impeccable ideals holds no romance for me. I don’t see this path as heroic. I think it’s far more honorable to stay in the game – even if you’re objectively losing the game – than to excuse yourself from participation because of your delicate sensibilities. But in order to stay in the game, you must let go of your fantasy of perfection.
My own glints of darkness did not frighten him; he had such darkness of his own that nobody else’s shadows scared him.
You do not need anybody’s permission to live a creative life.
The truth is, you need your fear, for obvious reasons of basic survival.
Generally speaking, though, Americans have an inability to relax into sheer pleasure. Ours is an entertainment-seeking nation, but not necessarily a pleasure-seeking one.
My fear wasn’t some kind of rare artisanal object; it was just a mass-produced item, available on the shelves of any generic box store.