I remember the agony of my youth, having to work all day, and then having only an hour or two to spend on my art. I remember believing that this was just not enough, feeling the seconds of my life ticking by.
My mind was continually turbulent as I put myself under pressure to get behind the keyboard. That pressure gave me permission, I thought, to mistreat people, manipulate situations, and generally behave horridly. I was special. I was a misunderstood artist.
And though it took a while, I gradually began to understand that the world did not owe me a living while I work on my music, and that the universe has a flow of its own. I began to understand that I was part of that flow, just a part. I began to understand that the world owed me nothing, and in fact, I owed the world my earnest effort regardless of circumstances.
I came to understand that art serves life, not the other way around.
And as I wonder what, if any, lasting contribution I might make to the world before my time is up, I realize that this is another version of the same trap. The best contributions are the quiet ones, the ones that come from living steadily, honestly, creatively and abundantly.
May our creativity, our art, serve a life well-lived.
My very best,
Philip
PS if you’re not listening to my Christmas album, you’re missing out. :-)
Art serves life! What a powerful statement. <3