One year ago, this happened to me.

For two hours my heart danced a crazy dance. The master of words, Tim-frickin-Minchin, liked my words. He liked MY words.

I had not written anything in about a decade. It felt so amazing to be inspired again. It felt absolutely unreal that the source of inspiration would read any of it and nod in approval.

After about two hours it dawned on me that the nod may be out of concern. You never know how people take it if you mention the much-feared S word (that’s a long important conversation for another time).

I’ll never find out. But a year later, I’m still grateful for the thrill and the momentary validation. That incredible feeling of words travelling across time and space to distant eyes and hearts and brains we hold in high regard. At the end of the day, this is the reason for so much art.

And no, I can’t do art. But now I find relief in writing again. And that, too, is priceless.


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