I worry about the passing of time.
When I was younger, maybe even just a few months ago, I felt time drag on slowly.
I dreaded going to sleep because it meant I had to wake up.
Am I doing enough.
Will I do enough.
Am I going to live a long life.
Will I ever find life to be easy.
Will I be able to do anything at all.
Will this war continue for a long time.
Will I be able to continue supporting myself as an artist.
Will this war be another war that I grow extremely familiar with and know nothing true about.
Have I ever truly let myself rest and enjoy anything.
Will I have enough time.
Obviously there isn't a way to know and the wondering and worrying is a waste of the darn stuff.
And so I continue to apply to art showcases and farmers markets and pop ups and makers markets and everything I can think of.
And ironically, time passes.
Time passes so quickly and effortlessly now I am honestly shocked consistently when I remember to check a clock.
When I have time I paint and create.
It's unfortunately and surprisingly rare.
Now I have to make time for the part of the job I like, which is hard, but I'm so happy to be busy and fulfilled with my life and my time.
Time is weird.
A friend and a foe, always fickle.
But I will win yet.