My worth is not measured by my quantity or quality of work. Art can just be what it is, sacred just for existing outside of someone. It cannot be measured as good or bad, only honest or dishonest.
I am practicing honesty in my writing, primarily with myself. I am trying not to stifle the “ugliness” or deny the natural joy. I want my optimism to find a place somewhere in the music too.
It’s funny how much harder it is to write about hope or joy, even in spaces where it is most prominent. Maybe I’m afraid of what I’ll have to lose when I admit that I am mostly happy.