it is a monday night. cool but a hint of warmth stills the evening. typical of spring.
the streets are quiet save the murmur of all blacks rugby fans that populate the vague pubs. i have perched myself on the stoop of the meager hotel that will serve as home for the coming days. moved after a walk back from an average meal at a restaurant that i do not care to rave about, i am in good spirits and for no particular reason. i am overcome by the sentiment to thank the many characters that i have leaned on over the past 18 months. my honesty i’ve disclosed to few; most know that i have been searching but have not known from what or necessarily where to.
where i am sitting is not the chelsea hotel nor am i in new york. but i am experiencing the same epiphany now as i did whilst lost in city lights bookstore in san francisco. the first book i saw there was patti smith’s just kids and here, roaming wellington once again (the location where i discovered the profound difference between being alone and being lonely) i have just finished this naked, raw, honest piece of literature by the legendary rock poet, i am feeling confused in a moment of absolute certainty.
it is an interesting paradox really. but it is this sense of knowing, the exhilaration to delve further into exploring my inner self – bringing to surface the dreams that i stifled many years ago – it is empowering really. the bravery to admit that i finally want to risk everything in a pursuit of seeing if i can do the one thing i have craved since adorning childhood innocence. ironically enough, right now i feel the youngest i have ever felt. the most confident i have ever been.
so…never a better moment than the present. it is here – in front of this shabby hotel on the cuba mall strip – that i am reveling in the modesty that we are all, in some form or another, artists.
we can all create…something beautiful.
we can all express…ourselves.
my medium: the written word. my message: tangled thoughts that i don’t even know the meaning of.
okay, so maybe not an artist…but definitely the author of my own life.