Choosing Change: Craving it, Thriving on it

The studio has been stagnant lately. We’ve been steadily doing repairs and plugging away on cool commissions, but the muse must be sleeping.

I know that if the muse didn’t nap from time to time, I’d probably be exiled or buried by now. The constant thrill of surging creativity would just simply be too much to bear. However, I still don’t like the dark.

This recurrent phenomenon just happens. Over the years, I’ve learned to just weather it. Keep on moving, hopefully forward. But, fortunately, there are a few little things that I’ve noticed that are helpful.

CHANGE. Change. change.

Yes, it is the one constant. And there seem to be two types: the change that is circumstantial or the result of choices other people make, and the change that I create for myself — the change I choose. But either way, resisting change is foolish. It’s not going away.

So, while the muse is sleeping and the studio feels stagnant, and I find myself becoming stagnant as well, I know it’s time to change something. Choose it.

Now, don’t take my pillow. I don’t want to change that. But, let’s move the table. It will work in this corner. Let’s reverse our routine – get the paper before I start brewing the coffee. Put a box of colored pencils beside the doodle pad, and get rid of the blue ink.

My friend, David LaMotte, wrote a song about change.

KEEP THE CHANGE by David LaMotte

Maybe twenty years ago now
You were waiting tables and wiping chairs
He never looked up from his menu
Like you weren’t even there
You just knew that he would stiff you
So put together and self-absorbed
He slapped a fifty on the ticket
And he muttered these few words

There isn’t much you get to keep
Here’s a little tip
Keep the change

So this morning you were driving
It came screaming through your head
How nineteen turned to forty
Like yellow turned to red
How waitress turned to mother
How love bug turned to van
How that money turned to nothing
When he put it in your hand

(repeat chorus)

Just a rich guy in a diner
Left a bad joke with his bill
The cash was gone by Sunday
But the words are ringing still

Now you’re crouching in the front yard
With your fingers in the ground
The weeds keep pushing up
While your own body’s slowing down
Don’t waste your breath on wishing
No need to raise your voice
Change is always optional
If dying is a choice

(repeat chorus)