Wait, I’m going to get acknowledged after my death?! This scenario is not half bad.
But seriously, I do it because I need to do this. It starts as a compulsion that has to be expunged. Something that will ruin my day or my mood until I get it out. Sometimes it’s about making the story I always wanted to read (either for the kid in me or for current me). There’s magic in doing that. To reach into yourself and find the thing you always needed? With all its imperfections and peccadilloes (peccadilloes is a fancy way of saying it’s punk rock, by the way). To be able to listen to your characters and delight in the things they say? That’s magic. Being able to pull a laugh out of yourself from some place deep down inside? That’s magic. To give yourself the chance to exercise empathy? To learn and grow in your craft? To have a record of the artist you were versus the artist you are now? For the chance to make a connection with someone because they dig the world inside your head and heart? It’s completely worth it.
And on the flip side, it also gives me the chance to make myself vulnerable. To feel all of the joy, pain, and all of my insecurities. To break myself down and learn how to pick myself back up again. To grow as a person and learn not to put all of my hopes and dreams into what others think about me. To not put all of my self-worth into the kind of art I’m able to make at this moment either. Because putting my art out there is hard and I had no idea the rollercoaster of emotions I’d feel along the way. But when I pay attention to my feelings of rejection/hopelessness, and validate them for a moment, I can then find a way to put myself back together and be stronger for it.
I do this because I love it.