Seems that 90% of my life involves fantasy.
I wrote a post about this a while back. But I’ve noticed recently a theme, if you will. This entire year has been the year of delusions and fantasies. None of them came true. Not a single one. But yet, I was pulled in certain directions that gave me experiences I never would have had otherwise.
The only thing that has remained true is that I have continued to work from the ground, where I live, in invisible indie land, to develop myself as an artist so that I’m happy with my own work, and involved with a community of artists, writers and musicians I adore.
There’s more on the ground than one would be led to believe.
This year, in February, I was preparing for a tour of the US and Canada. I spent three weeks of grocery money renewing my passport, sold most of my possessions, switched my job position, spent seven months in a cramped practice space preparing to tour with two bands, one fronted by a cult classic musician. I was ready to go… to roam, travel, tour, get out there.
But I was actually relieved, as I’ve stated again and again. Not that I’m not bummed. I am bummed. But mostly because of other reasons, personal reasons.
I’m not sure what is MY great artistic work and what is a product of my upbringing in an artistic family, a society that pushes for success, a need to prove myself after sacrificing all the traditions that didn’t fit for me, which were foisted upon me from youth (marriage, day job, happy family, kids, American DREAM…) .
I also seem to WANT to remain obscure. Which is likely why I was relieved when I found out I wasn’t touring as expected. I took a road trip last weekend, had plenty of time to reflect on my actions. I walk around like I’m worth something, sure, but I also don’t promote myself as much as I should because I seem to still have the delusion that anything or person good enough will be recognized by the universe in the best possible manner for their own particular path.
But I HAVE to put myself out there MORE. It’s a machine, the promotion. Can’t stop. Doesn’t matter if people get annoyed you’re promoting yourself. You have to do it. So… there’s a part of me that DOESN’T want to put myself out there more, which is why I don’t advertise this blog anywhere other than my twitter feed, because it’s almost still this secret pep talk blog to myself that a few people can peep in on IF they find it.
(Also, it’s hard to blog when you know a lot of your friends and family and musician and writer peers are reading your blog, as is the case with mine, because you are revealing that you are, in fact, not perfect, you are completely human, and in fact even slightly nuts, and you’re not trying to hide it. Hard to do on a consistent basis, though I have the suspicion these people all already know this about me and love me anyways. I’m hoping.)
I also seem to be going at music and writing in a manner of trying to PROVE something to the world.
I’m trying to prove to all those egotistical musician guys (there were a number) who criticized my abilities growing up, who played over me when I was playing, who minimized my abilities, that I am, in fact, good at music.
(I love male musicians, don’t get me wrong, I just had the privilege of knowing quite a few jerky ones. You jerky ones do not make it any easier for the nice guys out there, mmmkay)
I’m trying to buck the patriarchal rock n’ roll system by being a bad-ass chick who plays GOOD fucking music that makes you feel something.
I’m trying to prove that ending a traditional marriage was necessary in order for me to pursue my art and truly be myself.
I’m trying to prove that I’m WORTH something, through my talents.
I’m trying to prove that life is not futile, that if you put your mind to it, you can succeed, though success is highly personal and not easily quantifiable.
Someone I trusted and looked up to a lot before this summer said to me at the beginning of the year: “No one will ever give a crap about our indie bands.”
Fuck that guy.
I want to prove him wrong. If that’s enough drive, that’s enough drive. I’m fueled by vitriol and fire in my own specific way. Not everything can be unicorns and bunnies and fairy tales, but rest assured, the blood, sweat and tears that have gone into my music and writing are enough to sustain me right now. And *I* give a fuck about my indie projects. Fuck your couch.