I don’t even know what to write this time (as usual). I want to tell you that I’m done partying and gave up all that shit that is holding me back from my pursuit of artistic excellence, but who knows? How many other times have I told you this (have I said this) and have it not work out? I just fall right back into the same patterns . . . the same addictions. Why is that? Maybe I don’t want to lose my friends. That’s what I told my therapist at least. That I was scared of losing my friends if I stopped doing all the things I’ve been doing for so long and instead chose to put my own interests ahead of theirs. I mean, in the end, it’s my life, isn’t it? I can’t let myself feel responsible for other people’s happiness anymore. That’s on them. Except maybe at weddings. At weddings I always feel this moral obligation to go as hard as I can. To make things as magical for the bride and groom as I possibly can. To bring all my energy. All my effort. My A game. No matter the cost to me.

But that isn’t sustainable, is it? You can only do that for so long before the whims and desires of other people start to tear you apart. At some point, you have to say “enough” and let go of all that. You have to realize that this life is yours and the purpose — the highest purpose — is to live it. To live it as well as you can by your own standards . . . by your own judgment. But most people never take the time to think of what that is . . . to really consider it. They just do what their parents did — or the opposite of what their parents did. They just fall into the cultural norms . . . the culturally implied definition of success. Doing what other people think is good and successful, and reasonable, and righteous. Pursuing the validation of other people so they don’t have to learn to validate themselves. Where does this pathology start? Probably in school. Or with parents. Pleasing teachers, parents, coaches . . . whoever controls what we want. Whoever controls the validation. And the rewards. Whoever we choose to give power to. To give up our control and our responsibility of our lives.

Or maybe I’m just projecting again.

I mean, I’m doing it right now, as I sit here. Thinking of whether or not other people will like what I’m writing, as I’m writing it. It’s always there, in the back of my mind. Always present. I just can’t seem to escape it. Why are you doing this to me? Why are you in my head while I’m writing? I don’t like that, it’s hard and it hurts. Please leave. Please get out of my head. Leave me alone. But, of course, it’s not you. It’s me. I’m the one doing it to myself. I’m the one hung up on all this . . . sitting here projecting my insecurities out onto the world.

I always think this process is supposed to be smooth and easy, but it’s not. It’s really fucking hard. Well, maybe that’s just because I’m fighting what’s happening. I want things to go a certain way, and so I’m pushing for them to go that way instead of just opening up and allowing things to happen. I somehow keep getting caught up in trivialities, forgetting (avoiding) the fact that I’m going to be dead someday, and that I only have a limited number of days to write, a limited number of writing sessions left.

And so I write tense. With you in my head. Feeling judged, or . . . censored. Thinking that this is all somehow permanent. That whatever little thing I do wrong or mistake I make will follow me around like a plague, haunting my reputation forever. Inhibiting me. Preventing me from opening up and expressing. From letting it out. From having fun, and enjoying the process. From getting lost in what’s happening, without concern of judgment or fear of failure.

But what would that look like? What would it look like to write from there? From that place? From rock bottom? From the razor’s edge between hope and despair? From pure freedom? From nothing but the present moment? From nothing but whatever wants to come out of you right now? At this moment. Whatever you want to create. Without fear. Without desire for a specific outcome. Without anything. Just open and expressing. Flowing with it. Riding the wave. For no other reason than to do it. For the experience of riding the wave, while you are riding it. To get lost in flow. Pure presence. The greatest high. Flow: the most addictive state. Flow: my drug of choice. I can see it now.

When you give up. When you sit there and think about nothing besides what wants to be created, right now, in this moment. When you don’t really care either way. When you just serve as the medium. Opening up and letting it come through you. It’s not what you want it to be; it’s what it wants to be. What wants to come into existence? You’re just helping facilitate that process by sitting there and doing the work. Sitting there and opening up. Like the surfer. Waiting to catch the waves, waiting to see if any waves come through that day, this day — today — and if they do, catching them and riding them and seeing where they go. You can never really know what is going to come of it. All you can do is be ready, and if the magic is there in that moment, allowing it to shine through, capturing it as it does.

That’s the real goal of art, isn’t it? To get past all the conditioned responses and just say what you want to say without worrying about anything else. Pure, authentic, unconditional self-expression. Open and full. Free from all your bullshit hang-ups. Allowing the truth of whatever to be expressed, as it is, the way it is, raw and imperfect. Recreating your most powerful life experiences. Allowing the audience to experience their own version of that moment for themselves.

Anyway . . .

Write back if you’d like. I always enjoy hearing from you.

​Tony