I’m avoiding you.

I'm avoiding you. Drawing Luke Hockley.

I'm avoiding you. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I’m avoiding you.

I’m in a messy, reorganizing myself bit and I am avoiding showing that to you.

I think it is because I am aware that people ‘out there’ can read these letters that I write to you…and I want them to think I am really very sorted and know what I am doing.

I don’t know what I am doing. And I feel like that must get boring to listen to.

I’m bored of hearing myself say it.

It’s just money. That’s the only problem.

Money and time, I suppose.

I know what I want to do but I’m not sure I can survive doing it.

Also, I have those ‘artist’ questions going on.

Why should I be able to do the thing I love doing and make money from it? What makes the things I do valuable to anyone but me? Shouldn’t I get a real job and make things on the side? What gives me the right to such a self-indulgent life?

Oh, my.

I didn’t even know that shit was hanging around.

I thought I was beyond that.

I thought I had gotten clear how valuable the things I do are to people…because I see the transformation in them when they experience them. I see people come into themselves and then begin to share more of who they are with the world. I believe our world is broken because we don’t really see ourselves and the people around us.

That’s all clear.

Now make money.

That’s when I start to get all wobbly.

People will pay so much money for things that don’t feed them in this way, for stuff that gathers dust or experiences that don't reflect their true values.

Will they pay someone to help them be with others and to see themselves more clearly?

I don’t know. That’s the problem.


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