It's a tightrope, this city. A tightrope walk between being crushed by negativity and fear and money and power and finding the will to not only survive, but to flourish. I find myself scared again. Not of the streets, or the people, or the noises but of the fact that fear exists in me. That the voices have returned and here they are magnified. Failure here carries with it such a heavy price. This place does not easily comfort the broke, the broken, the weary.
I thought I'd given up talking like that. Using words like failure.
Here I found my true partner. My love. But can I find here the strength to not only stand tall myself, but to also lift her out of this dark, claustrophobic place?
I must. There is no question. I must.
I sit in the shoebox. I record these new songs. I tumble into fear and comparison and all the work that was done in Europe threatens to fall away - they're just not good enough, they're just not interesting enough, they just won't hold up...
But they did. On the stages I walked I stood tall and life changed around me. People were changed and cried as they told me so. Gifts were given and received. Hearts were broken open and it all became a plan and the plan is only four weeks away. Four weeks until we are back surrounded by the gypsies. Four weeks until we are back in Europe, where belief blossomed, common in the scented air of those smaller, more welcoming cities.
I have to hold that in my heart, or perish here in the fire.
Some days I am afraid. I will admit that.
Yet I must not fail.