Cause God wrote Otherside/That pen was in my hand/I'm just a flawed man

Macklemore (from Starting Over w/ Ryan Lewis feat. Ben Bridwell)

It's been feeling really appropriate to be listening to Macklemore and Ryan Lewis's The Heist lately.  I know I was a little late to that boat--I'm still emerging from this weird headspace where I had all this resentment and resistance about listening to new music, which is horrible since that's one of the greatest pleasures ever, plus the work of other people inspires me to make my own work.  These themes that come up on The Heist--the nature of art, what is an artist, self doubt, hope, questioning what is true/correct, "a generation of kids choosing love over a desk"--it's all stuff that has been rolling around and around in my mind a lot over the past 6 months.  That lyric above may be one of my favorites on the album.  It gets to that crazy wonderment after creating something: "Did I do that?"  No, god wrote that; the pen was in my hand.  The muses/the universe/the chemicals dancing in my brain.  I just decided to show up one day and this thing came out of me.  Makes me think of The War of Art and sufi whirling.

10,000 Hours, the first song from The Heist (gotta love Malcolm Gladwell references as an opener), was stuck in my head on Thursday morning when I woke up last week.  In my morning journal I started calculating how many hours I've spent on singing/songwriting.  I decided to estimate a very conservative 1 hour per week, since there have been months when I've been really in my depression and not touched the guitar, and stretches where I've played for hours each morning, plus performing and all that jazz.  So let's say I was 12 when I started, now I'm 25.  52 hours a year times 13 years.  676??? That's it???  I was like damn I'm far away from that 10,000 hour genius level.  Damn damn damn.  I started wondering whether I should count all the girls chorus hours back in the day, violin, viola, music camp, those hours listening to albums the way M's dad inspired me how to (start to finish with a good sound system, liner notes in hand), guitar lessons.  High school choir? Going to shows?  What counts?  But even then.  It ain't ten thousand, no way.

A few weeks ago I was in a seminar about sanskrit taught by this wonderful instructor Manorama.  She said a lot of things related to sanskrit and related to a bunch of other stuff, lots of nuggets creep that into my thinking on a daily basis since then.  One was "Love is attention."  How much attention have I paid--in hours--to the things that I would say that I love? What have I been paying attention to that I don't love at all?   I started googling after my 10,000 hour journal entry and found this article about time tracking.

What do I choose to love through my attention? 

AuthorJenni Lark