Here is a short renegade project about an enormous topic...
Dad's death has given me a sense of freedom and I feel guilty for saying that - as if I mean I'm glad that he's dead, which I am not. I wish very much that he wasn't dead. I wish I could watch him laugh, I wish I could hear him tell one of his wild stories, I wish I could pull up to his house and see him waiting outside for me. Unfortunately, I'll have to dig into my memory bank when I wish for those things because I'll never live the experiences as new again.
But I love him more and differently because living through the experience of him leaving is a gift that has let me see the world in a different way. I want to make work in a different way. This desire is so strong that it makes me feel almost sick, almost poisoned, like it's too big for my body to contain and I have to tell myself that I don't have to act on it all at once, that realizing it and living it and dreaming of it is just as important and lovely as creating it.
Pal, you don't have to act on it all at once. Realizing it and living it and dreaming of it is just as important and lovely as creating it.
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