Only In Discipline is There Freedom

Writing on a computer is different than when using pen and ink.

The medium affects the work.

We are the medium for the work being done in the world.

"Impress your will upon the millennia," as Nietzsche’s work says.

Incendence v. Transcendence

The concept is terrific. It reminds me of the end of Narnia, where CS Lewis says the world, as one got deeper in, somehow got bigger and more beautiful.

Incendence is the further pluming of our self, deeper in and into larger, more beautiful spaces. 

Understanding the difference in what we are and what we do helps us bridge the gap between what we’re doing and what we come alive most in, and by extension, what we most bring alive. When people recommend chasing your passion, I think this is the route they’re talking about.

I’ve been doing improv for about two years.

It brings me alive and I think I also bring it alive.

It is where I find myself blooming. 

I also am learning a lot about leadership.

Over the course of a few years I’ve amassed a great set of knowledge and practice, including the patience to enjoy it gain momentum over decades.

This presumes I make it into coming decades.

As my professor said, we just have to keep our eyes open to stay alive. 

He was helicoptered out of Beirut with his wife and young son soon after the Dean of the university he was teaching at was assassinated. I listen when he speaks.

His story has gained momentum over time.

The narrative we use is critically important.

The story of ourselves we tell ourselves.

The future we have and the past we retain, the present we experience, forever transforming into the history we choose from.

I’m only writing to write.

The discipline is more important than the expression because it is through discipline that expression finds the power in its voice.

It’s startling how little new I—or perhaps anyone—is really saying.

If you get anything from me, it’s that everything I have came before me for centuries till I was born to express it during our time.

I was listening to some of the horrible music I made over half a decade ago and before.

When I was making those songs, I dreamt about people finding it after my body of work had run its course and they were still hungry for more. 

If they find it now, and they like it, I would probably turn in my grave.

Laughing is a very important component of my conversations.

So I hear these songs and instantly begin in on a dismissive narrative about all my previous work.

The danger is the habit extends ultimately to most of what I do regardless of the quality of expression. 

Artists have written this off as part of their process for years, but its only partially true. 

The other half of the equation is that we build mountains over decades to spend other decades mining through them for gold. 

It takes a ton of ore for a few milligrams of gold. Something outrageous like that. 

Those horrible songs are the ore of my present, pregnant with gold within them.

I’m about five songs into a third and maybe final album.

I’d like to keep making them; as their quality improves so does the expense. A pleasant problem.

I need to start making it more self-sustainable if I can continue at this level and pace. 

The work will speak for itself and if it brings the opportunity for more then it’s probably a good bet that’s a way my voice should come out.

Improv has been that in two short years, but I also spend at least a few hours on a main stage every week.

The other four songs of the album may have a few bits of gold from the decades gone by. 

As if time teaches us to smelt and refine ourselves so that we ultimately glow like the precious rarities we are. 

Incendence to passion.

If you’re reading this, thanks. 

Isn’t it funny that we will probably forget this moment together?