I think about passion a lot. I question my passions. Then again, I question a lot of things. I'd like to think that passion is a fire inside me that pushes me never to settle for mediocrity. I'd like to believe it's a fire so that I can handle the burn better than I do.
Yesterday night I went back to the studio with Aaron. You will all meet "Billy" soon, yes. I leave next Saturday and I am determined to find a time when I can take Aaron out for lunch or something. The need to do something nice for this incredibly patient man has taken over. He has done so much and been so helpful.
Last night he was the only voice telling me to keep going (in music, not life. This is not that depressing a story). For seven hours we worked on vocals. I cursed a lot and got angry at myself and everyone that ever told me I could sing and got sad about what this could mean: giving up on music. If anything, I am dramatic. Had I been by myself, there's no question what my fight or flight response would have been: flight. But he was there so I powered through.
I was on the brink of tears the whole night, not just because I didn't like my voice but because I wanted to so desperately. Every second I held on to perfectionism was another second keeping us at the studio for too long. My body was begging for sleep and my mind was begging for something other than disappointment. All I kept thinking is "this has got to come together. This has to work." Something has to work. If I can't excel at anything else, if I can't find the time in the day to do everything I want to do, if nobody will love me, at least let me have this.