Art, Rage & The Inner Child

I'm having a temper tantrum.

I'm upset that I'm struggling still after all these years to get my music out into the world. I'm angry that I'm working at such random things in order to make ends meet - and frustrated as less and less time is used for music and more and more time is used for earning money in non-musical ways.

In years past, music has contributed to my life financially, emotionally, spiritually. I've lived simply, focused on art, studied, taught, wrote, sang. The last year has been simply surviving - teaching a bit, writing little, singing less.

Today I'm finding myself exhausted, and somehow empty. I have this load on my back, this warmly bundled pack of unwritten, unsung work and I'm worn to the bone with carrying it endlessly forward.

For the first time in my life, I want to just leave the pack by the side of the road.

What is it like to just live a regular life? Work at a normal job, finish the day and go home to dinner and a night of TV or time with friends and family? I'm trying to imagine waking up in the morning with my only obligation a day job and responsibilities wrapped around the people I love.

No sense of falling over and over as the music does not meet the idea and I try once again. No feeling of pressure in the back of my heart pushing me to write it down, sing it out, translate thought into reality. What if I did not have to write? What if it's not my job to make sure that music gets created? What if I don't have to teach, to learn?

There is nothing glamorous about being a composer. No one applauds when a note is written down. Few people even notice when the note is sung. So why am I doing this? What is the point of all this struggle if the work I'm doing dies with me, unheard? Why the endless pressure, the relentless obligation, if what I am doing makes no difference?

I'm having a temper tantrum. Kicking my heels, pounding my fists, hollering and wrecking my voice for the next few days. I need something back. I need something to happen back, something to come from all of this worthwhile work I've been pouring out into the world all these years.

God I'm tired. Bone tired, and sitting by the side of the road with a load of music I can't carry and can't leave behind.