My dog stepped in paint and walked through the house. Hmmmm, I thought, that’s unfortunate, but you know what? That’s just how things are going to be around here. Paint started showing up on my jeans, and eventually even made its way onto my brand new white sheets.
When I moved into my new apartment, I didn’t have plates. I’m going on three months now, and I still don’t have any. Not having plates is fun. I do all sorts of new things now because of it. Like ordering lots of pizza and scarfing dinner right off the stove with a girlfriend and two forks because, well, that’s just the way things are going to be around here.
Last week I decided that I need a swing inside my house. So we’re gonna do that, too.
I started painting. I’m not a painter. So why paint? Because it’s fun. Because it makes me happy. And because after painting 100 bad paintings that are conscious and dramatic and overly emotional, I made one really strong piece that fills me up and has been inspiring others.
I’m making a mess. Letting go of expections. Not caring about what I’m supposed to do or ought do and just doing what sounds awesome. And in the mess, something new is emerging. Something original and authentic and incredibly exciting.
I’m not sure what it is yet. I’m not sure where it’s going. But I am convinced that if I keep making — irregardless of the mistakes and failures that are so wonderfully awful and laughable — something will come from all this nothing.