Struggling With My Grip . . . on Stoicism

Words For The Weekend Vol.1

I’ve never considered myself, much less identified myself as an “artist”. A musician yes but not an artist.

I see artists as brave & pioneering with a seemingly endless well of conviction of which to draw from.

Along with their bravery, artists have patience which they utilize to create space for innovation and if they’re really great, a moat is formed round their vision to further their journey towards uniqueness.

I recall being far more fearless and possibly threatened artistry when I was in my late teens and early twenties although that could have been a byproduct of youthful angst channeled into something that seemed “cool” within a niche of which, in I’m grateful to have found. In recent years I’ve lost a little bit of that tendency to wade into the dark, I think for fear of drowning in irrelevancy.

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing and I seldom feel more calm and mentally centered than when I’m on stage performing, it’s my favorite place to be, however these observations have lead me to believe that I’m more of a “musical jock” than anything else.

My apartment circa 2016 by Zackery Michael

Perhaps this is why I also find solace in an outcome based activity like golf. What I mean is unlike writing, my journey through eighteen holes of golf may at times contains the same multitude of emotional pitfalls and triumphs however there’s always a measuring stick of success and failure: “what did you shoot?” Meaning what was my score according to par? Whatever trials and tribulations I might encounter on the golf course, that journey and the incurred lessons are for me, the number is all that matters to anyone else hence common golf adage: ’There’s no pictures on a scorecard.’

Whilst playing music throughout my adolescence I also played competitive golf until about the age of 20. Did this lead me to enjoy the act of performance over the writing process all of these years?