With some shiny new gear and a head full of ideas, I closed the closet door and collapsed into the musty darkness.
Testing. Testing. I said into the mic.
I launched into a monologue, hoping that the work shirts and sheets would act as a buffer, blocking out the noise of my roommates making fish sticks in the kitchen.
I played back the audio and cringed. It wasn’t good. My brain raced. How not-good was it? Workable? Fixable?
I bummed around my room, feeling bad for myself. Whenever you take a creative risk, there’s the assumption it will pay off. Otherwise why take it? But I’d gotten so caught up in the end result, I’d lost sight of what I was doing.
Like a recovering alcoholic reaching for his bible, I opened Spotify and clicked on Sedona, allowing the song to slowly gain momentum, submitting to the idea that I’d been avoiding all night.
I would learn from this.