Ripen.

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Tomatoes are not in season. They’re close, inching, crawling, scooting like a tiny worm towards the door of the cafe. Close enough I think I can smell their deep sweetness, feel the fresh bitten burst of juice. A pinnacle sign of musky, heat wave filled July’s and Augusts.

I relate to those tomatoes. Close to creative ripeness, to luscious success, but just far enough away to be laughable at obtaining right now.

I can taste it. the sour-sweet tang of creative liberty, earthy responsibility of reputation; paired with the feeling of apron strings pulled tight, a cord of imagination turned tangible.  It is all, literally, right. there. In front of me.

Just like the waves of heat in those musky summers, visible, shimmering, present. Pulling you in like a mirage, luring with satiation and fulfillment. Elusive “future”, teasing the present.

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I am a habitual liar though.

You’re scared, you’re not ready, inexperienced, not creative enough, no opportunities,  tired. 

You’re so tired,

aren’t you tired?

You need a break, a rest,

a reset, a start-over.

I haven’t even started. 

There is opportunity, even more importantly, there is support. Endless, boundless, support, from people I wouldn’t have dared ask of it. There are no valid excuses to support the tamping down of chances I’ve put myself through time and time again. I’m just scared. Scared of failing, more scared of not, and having expectations to live up to; a suffocating, claustrophobic tunnel narrowed by my own vision.

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This blog will turn one year old in March 2018. Imagine if I’m still writing about being scared? Still stagnant, still taking kinda shitty/kinda passable photos in my tiny apartment. Imagine if I’m still just writing, and not doing?

So stop being a little bitch, “In Whites”. Start working. Planning. Clock in, clock out, keep going. Little sketches in a book are cute, until they get yellow with age instead of stock, then they’re just sad. If you want strong roots, dig deeper. Water them, feed them, sustain them. Follow through on the chances you keep “agreeing” to, instead of letting them drown in the depths of abandonment. Passion will follow suit.

Make creativity corporeal, turn this small space into a curative process. A gallery of experiments, personal and public. Some will slip into a cohesive path, without breaks, showing growth. Some will turn into steps. Appreciate them across the board, but just try. 

Be tired, need a rest, need time. Embrace the soreness of feet holding you up hours past the time stamp, hands cramped from holding a knife after closing. Let yourself grow, accept the pains, and enjoy fruition – like a sweet, sultry, summer night.

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