On Risk-Taking.

I had this wildly radical thought on the way home from work this evening, which is that maybe I should sell my piano.

Leading up to this thought had been all the usual thoughts. “What the hell am I doing to myself?” “I am miserable.” “I need a change.” “I wish I could make a living doing art.”

These thoughts led up to more and more crazy thoughts. Next came, “I don’t know if I want to teach art, or if I’m only choosing to teach art because I’m afraid I can’t make a living DOING art.” and “How will I know if I can make a living doing art if I don’t try?” and “Why don’t I try?”

And that led to thoughts about the tiny little desk I have at home to work on and the closet full of art supplies that I can’t access because they’re buried beneath piles of crap that we never use.

And that led to the ultimate thought: “What if I sell the piano?”

I’ll admit it makes my heart race a little to think of it. I love to play the piano. I lose myself in the notes when I play. It’s the best form of meditation, the most consistently doable form of relaxation I have. But I never play any more. I just never get around to it. And it doesn’t bring me the kind of joy that I get from my photography, my drawing, my knitting, and my writing. So what if I sold the piano and used the money to build myself a workspace?

It’s a scary thought, to give up something I love but don’t use to attempt something I think I’ll love if I only gave it a try. And what if I hate it? What if the workspace sits in the corner collecting dust like the piano?

But what if it doesn’t?

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