There’s this old joke:
“Mum, when I"m grown up I want to be a writer.”
“Sorry, honey, you can’t be both.”
I don’t know if it comes with being an artist, but why is it so difficult being a focused adult?
Why do I at my age still roll down hills and climb up trees?
Why would I be perfectly happy eating nothing but Oreos for lunch?
Why do I get excited about finding a font that consists of chord charts and have to immediately play my name?
I realized this week how completely lost I’d be without my manager.
It’s like I’m five and and need to be permanently reminded of where we’re actually heading. No, we can’t stop at the swings. No, ice cream would be a huge detour. Sorry, those balloons don’t go with your hair. No, you can’t be a unicorn, you’re a musician, remember?
I’m so extremely grateful to be kept on my path, so I can follow my vision, but I’ll tell you a secret: When no one’s looking, I’m going to bounce on the bed.