I have a hard time with the “f” word. Talking with a friend this weekend, I realized how many decisions I made in the past that minimized risk. I settled on an art history degree instead of pushing myself in the studio. Certainly, not a poor choice in the grand scheme of things, but a safe choice, nonetheless.
I think that single decision has defined me for years. So here I am, a year into this experiment in my own home studio, no longer uttering “I can’t”, but whispering “I’m willing to try.” And failure will come with the process. Somehow, my forty year old self accepts that fact better than the scared kid I left in college twenty years ago.