I'm not a hot mess.

"A bird need not know the reason for her song." -- Lalita

The last blog post I shared brought in a variety of perspectives. Posts like my latest one are somewhat vulnerable for me to share, but maybe not for the reasons you think. 

Sometimes life is messy and the documentation of it is an art form unto itself. (tweet it)

That's why I do this work. What I share, while authentic, is artistic expression for me. My best work, in my opinion, is when I'm able to document the beautiful messes in life, such that someone else can feel what I felt in that exact moment. Messy can be love, it can be laughter, and it can be sorrow. It can be all things human, and all things godly, which by my definition is anything that exceeds us. 

There's power there. There's connection there. So I made a video about it, clarifying my position on gutsy work in a comedic way. Watch the full video below. 


If people are only able to see a sap behind my most emotional posts, then they're missing the point of the work...the scope and breadth of what's really being made. They're missing a chance to connect, an invitation of which they aren't obligated to accept. 

It's not to say that my tone is not sappy or melancholy at times. It is. And yet, that's only one piece of a much larger experience. It's frustrating when the I'm confused with the work. Even though I'm talking about my own experiences, by the time it hits pen, paper, and Mailchimp, something bigger has already taken over. My experience seems like a mere doorway to something infinitely wiser than the narrative alone. 

I'll leave you with this:

"This makes me happy. Being a total weirdo makes me completely, joyfully, fucked." 

What brings you to a state of absolute joy? Forget art. Forget good or bad. Forget class and quality. Forget authority. Forget it all. 

What brings you to a point of utter rapture? This is it for me. These moments where I can't tell whether the music is following my feet, or my feet the music. It doesn't matter what came first, the chicken or the egg, because here before me are fried eggs and cage-free, wild hens.  

It's when everything aligns and I'm given the gift of communicating the fragility and fleeting quality of our most human nature. And even when it doesn't, I have the gift of expressing myself. 

I'm not a fuckin' hot mess all the time. 

But I'm most certainly--and verifiably--human.