Yesterday I was reading over one of the chapters and had to step away from my laptop. It had been some time since I reviewed that chapter (maybe March?) and I was so devastatingly unimpressed with the sentences that I had to pour a glass of wine. I am told that it’s normal for any artist to feel unamazed by aspects of their work during a career. Part of what draws us to writing and singing and dancing, to photography to playing to painting, is our tendency to be hyperemotional and overly-critical of ourselves, so much that it distorts our view of the world in a way that normal methods of expressing ourselves within it do not suffice.
I also understand that as we grow, live and read more, so does our work. This year has been such an inspiring adventure through my experiences and the books I’ve indulged that a chapter I would write today is so different from one written/edited back in March. While the story remains strong, I am cringing as I read some of these sentences.