I went to see one of my favorite artists tonight; Amy Correia. She was great, the other performers not so much, we left early. But it furthered thoughts that were sparked over the weekend when I bought Bruce Springsteen's Live in Dublin CD.
I find people who live by their art fascinating, especially musicians. They seem to be consumed by it. Where for me, art, literature, and music are parts of my life, even big parts, for them it is their life. You can hear it in their voices, see it on their fingers, hear it in their words. It is actually who they are.
So my thought is, who am I? What is it that defines me? I write, I throw pots, I used to paint and want to again. I would call myself a musician, but it's been a long time since I have really played a piano or a violin. These are things I love, they are parts of me. But they are not my life, they are not who I am.
Why? Is it because I haven't cared enough about one thing to give up all the others to pursue it? Am I destined to be a Jack of all trades but always yearning to master one? I don't know. Maybe I just need to keep living. Maybe the thing that defines who I am is something less tangible than a guitar strapped to my shoulders or a canvas on my wall.
Something to think about.