I’m coming upon the year anniversary of my father’s death. And what has been, for a lack of a better term, the least productive year artistically of my life.
I was depressed about it. Lost, one could say in the volume of silence, the abyss of nothingness.
That was until yesterday when in a passing conversation with my fiance’s dad, I mentioned that I had previously been a math major.
“Math major, pshhh. Let me see those grades. You had to be failing that is the ONLY reason that anyone would switch from math to English…..”
Enraged, I took my grievance to social media where I got a bevy of responses similar to:
“Why would you do that????? He’s right. Don’t you know companies are poaching math and science high school teachers…..”
A rekindled fire burned with in me.
Why would I switch from Math to English?
Very simply, when it came down to studying for my Cal final freshman year of college, I decided instead to watch Young Guns.
Yes the 1980’s brat-pack western.
And it dawned on me, I was good at math, oh I was, (got a high A in the course) but I wasn’t passionate about it. I didn’t stay up late at night to study or work on math, but I sure as heck did for writing.
I have railed in previous posts about how much art matters, but have, through the course of the last year, partly forgotten how passionate I am about it.
His words, though, and others fuel my fire. Art matters. My art matters. You’re art matters.
And don’t let anyone tell you otherswise.
Now, where is my pen, do I dare to disturb the universe?