My son never waits for a better time to create something he cares about. When he gets the idea, he does it. His ideas are always fresh and exciting to him. He doesn't second guess himself, or edit or get neurotic about what people will think of him for saying something or writing something or drawing something. He lives in the moment.
Last night I lay in bed for an hour with a lyric and a melody going through my head. This morning I woke up and the magic is gone. the genesis is gone. I remember some of the words, but the creative spark has left me and I’m depressed. What I if I lived in the moment like my son? Dinner might be late occasionally. I might live a slightly MORE fractured existence than I currently do. But I’d be PRESENT. I would get my ideas out and the life that is in me would be allowed to show. And I wouldn’t feel this way. Bottled up and corked and like my mind is constipated.