Life seems like a gift. It seems rare. It also seems very hard to do anything that matters. I had the chance to see a bunch of Michelangelo's masterpieces this year, and I did think my bestie was making all of us seem lame. I saw Rembrandt's art and Van Gogh's. Again, more besties that make us all look like we are not trying. Does it shock you that inside me, there is a longing to slap something down that will echo through the ages?
I call myself, "The voice crying out from suburbia."
Yep, not precisely the cutting-edge vibe dreamers long for. I am choosing to party with this gift of gab that the Universe has bestowed on me anyway. I want to matter, but I have no power to make that happen. Here's the deal: no one wakes up and thinks, I know, I will be insignificant! I will pour out my life, hungering for the audience, and fall flat on my face. I note that moms don't exactly get the fast track when it comes to celebrated works. Maybe it's all the diapers, two am feedings, and little league practices that are getting in the way.
Here is a quote to treasure:
