"Once Upon A December"

After moving to Los Angeles, I kind of fell off the grid...

...And into the grind.

Why?

I ask myself this every single day.
How can I possibly not have something to write about, ponder, consider, speculate, or create?

The answer...There is actually too much. I am not that busy per se, but my brain is constantly flickering ideas and questions. I don't know how to answer them myself!

Learning to time manage is the real deal. Doing one's best to not get absorbed into the seemingly random job I am working, while also not tossing it off as just income.

There is always something to learn.

My life goal isn't to be defined as an artist, but as someone who was bold and faithful with what I was given.

It can be exhausting seeing what would be defined as lack of success....

Here is the reality in my opinion-and yes, this will probably be full of random interweaving metaphors because that is how I write.

I am unapologetic.

I have come to my crossroad. It is a crossroad I approach daily.

Do I really trust in divine intervention? What does it mean to be called to something? Does being called mean that everything will work out? What does working out really look like?

This moment feels very Sartre...Kafka...Nietzsche...

The piano had that old book smell. You must know the one I am talking about.

Wiping off growing families of dust from the mahogany lacquer wood; scattering it reveals a long lost dream..

I play. Slow and a tad clumsily. Knuckles popping as joints expand into familiarity.

"Once Upon a December"....is remembered from over 15 years ago.

The diaphragm remembers  delightful dreams so well.

And sometimes tears of repentance are needed to cleanse bitterness.

Oh why?!

There is no answer except that the lid was slammed down on my hands. Shattering my imagination and diverting my destiny.

But only for a moment...

Only for a moment...

Fear and the "real world" pretend to be wise, but they know nothing of the Heavenlies. It is just a game.

Will I allow a gamble to define my success as an artist?

As a woman?

What a preposterous thought!

So what can I depend on?

Or on Whom? If not, success, fame, or my own goodness, which is subjective..

Perhaps, I have answered my own question.