Call me Miss Direction

I decided that I was not a good artist. I decided it was too much of a hassle. I decided to give up.

It was stressful, anyway. I would feel good to get the weight of "being an artist" off my shoulders.

It didn't. Feel good, I mean. Not good at all.

And I think it was because I didn't walk away and leave it to die. I forced myself to stay. To watch. I watched my art die.

A slow death.

It might have worked if I had walked away. I'm not sure why I couldn't leave it alone.

The pain of watching a part of myself wither away from neglect was finally too much. I picked it back up and began to nurture it again.

And that's where I am right now. I don't know why I keep coming back to art. I'm no prodigy, I don't specialize in any medium or subject or style, and I have no direction.

I only know I can't let it go. It can't let me go. It needs to take me somewhere and I need to let my guard down and let it lead.

It seems like I should have learned something from this, but I'm still in the dark.

Do you have a part of yourself that you can't ignore? That calls to you, pulls at you, keeps you awake at night? I've never created anything that I would consider to be important, so why the urgency? The tenacity?
Maybe I have the capacity to create something important.
Maybe I overestimate myself.
Maybe I underestimate myself.
Maybe we're all in a chronic state of underestimation.

How about this?
How about I promise to do my very best, to honestly strive to hear what's in my heart and follow its direction. Wherever it takes me. No judgment, doubt, or self-sabotage.

Now you promise to do the same.