So here’s the truth: I’ve almost given up… like… really given up.  More than once, I’ve fully embraced the idea that this whole thing was the result of having followed a kid’s folly far beyond where it should have ended… the result of stubbornly carrying my naivete into adulthood, because being a little crazy was the only thing that allowed this to keep making sense.

I’ve reconsidered my place in the world a hundred times.  One time I even pretended – to both myself and others – that I felt excited and liberated by the prospect of starting over… the idea that the possibilities were endless and I could do anything. “I don’t have to be a musician just because I’ve come this far.” I said,  “My life is a blank slate. Awesome!”

The thing is: it’s not.

Anyone who’s really fallen in love, knows that it’s not a choice.  I am in love.  I no longer have a choice.

I’m not saying that I won’t expand my skills into other areas, or that my art and my life won’t evolve. But I know that music is now a permanent fixture. It can not be removed by any force that I know how to wield.  I can do other things, but I can’t replace it.  Anything I do in its stead feels like a lie… and always will.

Believe me, I’ve tried.  I’ve steered my ship into much more promising waters.  But in other pursuits, I consistently find myself plagued by a deep feeling of restlessness and monotony – in every breath and action – that can’t be ignored.  And the further from music I get, the more I’m compelled to distraction and the superficial in lieu of getting back on course.

My center is here. With music and its creation.  But there’s something else that supports this undeniable predilection:

Your faith in me. Your willingness to listen to what I’m making and see me through, has – more than once – been a deciding factor between my quitting for good, and coming back to where I belong.  So Thank you.

And the thing is:  this obsession… this dream… this habit I can’t kick:

It’s finally starting to pay off.