Fatigue: the working of the job to do the job

Waitress town. Population me.  

If you’re going through hell, keep going.
— Winston Churchill

 

Currently I am learning about fancy cocktails and dynamic wines... the kinds of wines with notes of leather and cherry and slate and depth. This particular restaurant/bar I've started at is a high end one. It's intense. It's a fucking bootcamp. And I'm overwhelmed. 

Overwhelmed because I haven't touched this blog in close to a month. I'm late on sending out press kits for a Horseshoe Tavern gig on Thursday. My practice routine has been off the grid. 

On one hand I'm learning the ways and products of this high-end joint, but what, in turn, is suffering? The thing I want to do with my life. For now? Can this be yet another ebb and flow? I'm challenged with the ability to have perspective right now as I am smack dab in the middle of a massive learning curve. And it's uncomfortable and tiring and it can get fucking existential.

What am I doing with my fucking life? 

Priorities?

Rich parents and benefactors. Congrats to those who have them. Artists who are making a living from their art? I can't imagine this.. and maybe that's where my problem is? Or what am I expecting? Or am I complaining? Or am I using this fancy job to distract from doing the work? 

 

 

 

And this is where friends, good friends, come in. I woke up this morning. Paralyzed with big questions. Fantasies of escape.. Get rid of my apartment and move back to Barrie. And what happened and what helped?

 I connected with my sister on Skype. She gently coaxed me off the ledge. By offering perspective and ideas and humour, I am able to see that this is what is right now. Push through... and then make decisions. But in the thick of the challenge storm, what if I kept moving. 

 

 

While working, I suddenly heard a noise and looked up to find Robert Hughes, the art critic of Time magazine, staring at me in disbelief. ‘But you’re Philip Glass! What are you doing here?’ It was obvious that I was installing his dishwasher and I told him I would soon be finished. ‘But you are an artist,’ he protested. I explained that I was an artist but that I was sometimes a plumber as well and that he should go away and let me finish.
— Philip Glass

I don't know how this is going to shake down. Feels like everything around me is falling apart. But is this just what dramatic change feels like? 

I will keep me posted. 

Here's to doing my best to observe difficulties and challenges, to the best of my ability.