As I paddle around across the shrinking pool in my little liferaft of me, plugging punctures and airholes as I go, I've come to understand that The Work – no matter how little time I get for it, no matter if it's now a minuscule part of my day – is my anchor which, I suppose, begs the question of whether it’s contributing to the sensation of drowning or if it’s what keeps me grounded for all the other things I have to do during the day – or feel threatened to have to do throughout the day.

(For purposes of sanity preservation, I’m going with the former until shown otherwise.)

What does contribute to the drowning is, however, any remnants of caring about a career, about reception, about anything outside my own control: all that’s in my control is showing up and being present with it and doing the best work with what little time I have and finishing it and throwing it to the world and starting something new because that rhythm, its pulse, its breath, that rhythm is my heartbeat through all of it and has been for the last 30 years. Lower the stakes / experiments / Rubin etc etc.

Related: never again will I underestimate the ability of the first movement of Gorecki's SYMPHONY NO. 3 to bring me a modicum of grounding and creative uplift but thenagain I've said this never again for the 20 years it's served that purpose so I won't hold my breath, especially when it comes to anything involving memory.