I’m being gentle with myself today, no longer sick but still recovering from this month-long flu, so even though all the world’s problems are clearly mine to solve, today’s not the day. I’m allowing myself to be thankful - for not feeling like death, still writing this newsletter everyday, and generally being a whole lot better off than most.
I’m thankful for where music has taken me. Here I am in Bali, in between Australian and European tours a couple years ago. Before entering the seaside temple, you must first be cleansed (hence the wet hipster fedora) and blessed (the flower and rice). As artists, when the stars begin aligning for the first time, I think we all struggle with a certain amount of Imposter Syndrome - so used to slogging through the mud, we regard any sort of cleared path as a fraudulent golden ticket, and it took me years to trust that the rug wasn’t about to be yanked out from under me. These days, I still deal with my fair share of existential dread, but it’s mollified somewhat by my appreciating the astounding improbability that I’m me at all and not, say, one of those creepy hairless cats.
I’m grateful when times are good, endure when they’re bad, and when preposterously lucky circumstance allows, cheers the setting Balinese sun to my miraculous, non-feline-being existence.