I’m feeling the always bizarre planetary pull between the two universes I live in. Yesterday I sat digging through a giant tub of zinnia debris hunting for their little arrowhead-shaped seeds and placing them into envelopes to ship off to someone, somewhere. Today I will be in the Lincoln Tunnel in a van filled with musical instruments and bandmates.
The pendulum swings back and forth here continually. I find it hard to keep up.
Especially during the winter.
I am alone in my studio. I heat vegetable oils on my stovetop. I grind herbs in my coffee grinder. I weigh out essential oils. I wipe soap flakes off the dining room table. I sort through jars of seeds hunting for the chamomile (I am always losing the chamomile). I move around books filled with pictures of wildflowers. I sit at my computer and switch between Photoshop and Illustrator. I shrink files. I save for web & devices. I copy vectors. I sift through css and html code. I rewrite code. I rewrite the code I just rewrote.
I wind instrument cable. I write set lists. I pack drumsticks and snare stands in suitcases.
I talk to sound engineers about DIs. I catalog merch.
I pack up CDs and tshirts and stickers and posters.
I haul amplifiers. I sing into microphones. I shake hands.
One day I’m in bed at 7pm, working on postcard designs until 10.
The next night I won’t even have gotten on stage until 11:30.
Does growing tired happen in your thirties? In my twenties I was full of hope and idealism and I had the energy to keep up. Now I find myself questioning if the hard work will ever really “pay off.” I’m not even sure what kind of a pay off I’m looking for. More money in the bank? More feelings of success? Fewer feelings of failure? More recognition? Vacation?
Let’s be honest. I think I just need a little sunlight on my face.