1. I’m doing a lot of thinking lately about what work means to me, or more accurately what “success” means to me. If I have to care quite so much about reaching some nebulous goal or set point—if there is a set point—or if it’s okay just to make “learn something” a goal, and then how to get there. How to make sure my goals are mine and not something I’m borrowing from other people, which is a habit I have. Thinking what other people want is what I should want. Or maybe I’m trying to justify laziness. From the New York Times:
But how about just giving up? What about wasting time? Giving up or perhaps giving over. To what? Perhaps what an earlier age called “the life of the mind,” the phrase that describes the sovereign self at ease, at home in the world. This isn’t the mind of rational thought, but the lost music of wondering, the sheer value of looking out the window, letting the world float along. It’s nothing, really, this wasted time, which is how it becomes, paradoxically, charged with “everything,” liberated into the blessed loss of ambition.
2. From Jeff Tweedy’s book Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back):
Sometimes I think it's my job to be inspired. That's what I do that most resembles work. It seems to me that the only wrong thing I could do with whatever gifts I've been given as a musician or an artist would be to let curiosity die. So I try to keep up with other people's craetive output. I read and I listen. I'm lucky that's what I get to do with my time—keeping myself excited about the world and not being discouraged when it loses its spark. By now I've been doing it long enough to say with some confidence that if you can remain open to it and you're not afraid to call it work sometimes, inspiration is limitless.
3. Let’s Go Rain:
+ I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night for the past couple of weeks, which is really fucking with my head. Usually I just lie there and baste in anxiety over the fact that I’ll never fall asleep again which as you can imagine is very effective. But last night I got out of bed and came into the living room and laid on the sofa and read Mary Oliver for a while. It didn’t immediately put me to sleep but it was calming. It was nice to have a companion.
We do one thing or another; we stay the same, or we
you have changed.