I have been taking guitar lessons for just under a year. It was last May, when this strange feeling was rattling my bones. I felt trapped, or more accurately, spotlighted. It was as if I’d been caught, during a prison escape.
See, I thought I had reasons for my dreams. In actuality, though, true goals transcend fears of failure. When an ambition can be twisted inside out, it distinctly resembles a delusion. I had lied to myself, not about art, but in the manner I measured success. The pressure I placed upon myself was monumental, a complete distortion. I figured incorrectly that a tidal wave of acceptance, in the form of money and recognition, would simply incinerate interior maladies which I was refusing to confront. The negativity I was feeling simmered under the surface. Its reasons for existence were base, the dark matter of unconscious depths.