There’s a story about Kurt Vonnegut and Joseph Heller at a billionaire’s party on Shelter Island. Vonnegut said their host might have made more in a single day than Heller had earned from Catch-22.
Heller said he had something their host could never have. He knew he had enough.
I can’t stop thinking about that.
I spent years believing there was a future version of me who’d be successful, recognised and secure. Once I became him, I could finally stop worrying.
I’ve made more than 500 paintings and played more than 500 gigs. I’ve been broke, frightened and held on with shaking hands. The scared little rabbit still makes an appearance. I just don’t let him drive anymore.
What I want now is fairly simple. I want to paint. Write. Have dinner with people I love. Hear a song that makes me stop what I’m doing. Stand in front of a canvas and feel scared and curious about what happens next.
I want enough money to pay my bills. Admittedly, I’m still working on that one.
I’m done waiting for everything to resolve before I let myself enjoy the life I have. I have people I love, a studio and work I’m curious to make.
The world will keep telling me I need more proof.
It can fuck off.
I have enough.