The other day, I read a headline that said 2/3 of Arts and Culture jobs in NYC have vanished and it felt like a punch to the gut. I was already having a hard time excavating myself out from under the pile of blankets I soothe myself in to make any kind of headway on my project, but then to see the mecca for my genre sitting under proverbial rubble makes it all that much harder.

I spent most of 2020 busting my hump to get BORJONER out, and so it should follow that’s what I should be doing all the time, getting carpal tunnel and making art. But, my well is dry. My bucket is empty. The things I used to do to fill them up are not available anymore, or as my Mom would say, right now. To take the place of live music, networking, rehearsing, I’ve been reading poetry. I’ve always struggled with poetry, especially since taking a class in college with a book the size of a 25 lb weight and language that I often couldn’t absorb. (I’m sure you all have a copy of the Norton Anthology somewhere in your storage.) When I was younger, I hung with the poets, and fancied myself one, until a teacher that I respected burst the bubble and ended that part of me for a long time. What I’ve realized now, and what I remind myself of, is that Poetry doesn’t have to be stanza’s and couplets and haiku’s. Poetry has to be natural. Poetry needs to come from the source. I read this yesterday:

If you want to be creative

you need to learn how to

do stuff that has no purpose

art isn’t made by

working al the time

first you’ve got to

go out and live.

the art will come

-rupi kaur

I’ve been flipping through rupi kaur’s book home body for the past week or so, and this is what is sitting with me. Can I translate my experience at the facility into a poetic experience for you to grasp? Can I let go of my fears of sound trite or flaky, of being pop or jazz? Can I wait for the tank to fill up? Will you wait for me, dear audience?

I can’t tell you how long I held on to that opinion of that teacher, the one who also called me the queen of the non-sequitur. What she didn’t know was that my mind was moving at light-speed, and that I couldn’t slow down or keep up with what was happening around me. I was deeply sensitive, becoming increasingly empathetic with those around me, and learning so much about life. For so long, I thought our teachers were the ones who decided who we were meant to become.

I’m still on the road to “becoming” something. I’m writing, but still too nervous to share it. What I now know is that I am the only one to decide who I will be.

Have you gotten past that first share? How did you do it?