My focus returned to the present moment. I was still sitting on the floor of my Thai apartment, memories flooding my psyche. Beautiful memories, and painful memories, and nostalgic memories; a whole string of experiences that had led me right here, to this spot on the floor where a puddle of tears lay.
I reached for my phone and searched through Spotify until I found one of my go-to songs: Ten Thousand Hours by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. I'd sometimes replay the lyrics over and over, letting the words flow through my ears and into my soul.
I hope that God decides to talk through him
That the people decide to walk with him
Regardless of Pitchfork, cosigns I've jumped
Make sure the soundman doesn't cockblock the drums
Let the snare knock the air right out of your lungs
And those words be the oxygen
Just breathe
Amen, regardless I'mma say it
Felt like I got signed the day that I got an agent
Got an iTunes check, shit man I'm paying rent
About damn time that I got out of my basement
About damn time I got around the country and I hit these stages
I was made to slay them
Ten thousand hours
I'm so damn close I can taste it
On some Malcolm Gladwell, David-Bowie-meets-Kanye shit
This is dedication
A life lived for art is never a life wasted
Ten thousand
Ten thousand hours felt like ten thousand hands
Ten thousand hands, they carry me
Ten thousand hours felt like ten thousand hands
Ten thousand hands, they carry me
Now, now, now
This is my world, this is my arena
The TV told me something different I didn't believe it
I stand here in front of you today all because of an idea
I could be who I wanted if I could see my potential
And I know that one day I'mma be him
Put the gloves on, sparring with my ego
Everyone's greatest obstacle, I beat 'em
Celebrate that achievement
Got some attachments, some baggage I'm actually working on leaving
See, I observed Escher
I love Basquiat
I watched Keith Haring
You see, I study art
The greats weren't great because at birth they could paint
The greats were great because they paint a lot
I will not be a statistic
Just let me be
No child left behind, that's the American scheme
I make my living off of words
And do what I love for work
And got around 980 on my SATs
Take that system, what did you expect?
Generation of kids choosing love over a desk
You put those hours in and look at what you get
Nothing that you can hold, but everything that it is
Ten thousand
Macklemore & Ryan Lewis
I wondered if musicians knew how much their work could help a lost soul in a difficult time. That song was my artist's anthem; the tune I played when I needed to remind myself that greatness takes time, dedication, and patience. The greats weren't great because at birth they could paint. The greats were great because they paint a lot. Originality comes from ten thousand hours of deliberate practice, big risks, chaotic setbacks, and messy mistakes — not excellence and order and perfection, like I was taught in school.
Like Macklemore, I also saw myself as an artist, crafting my own life by remixing different components and ideas and resources and values. You see, I wasn't happy with the mass-market life that society had programmed into me: go to university, get a good job, buy a house with a white picket fence. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that life, but it wasn't for me, and I knew that.
I needed to create something artisan; something new and unique and hand-tailored. I needed to create a life from scratch, and that meant putting in my ten thousand hours. I'd have to try a lot of things and fail at them and figure out what I liked and didn't like, and what worked and didn't work for me.
Creating art is a messy and frustrating process, as I was well aware. I used to spend hours in front of the easel as a schoolgirl, painting animals and portraits in oils. It took me years of deliberate practice to paint with a decent level of finesse.
I'd begun to calm down by now.
Maybe this is all part of the journey, I thought. Maybe I need this breakdown to have a breakthrough, and to see things a little differently — like when Jesse left me. Maybe this is all perfect, and I just can't see the order in it yet.
Usually, some physical training helped placate the raging storm in my mind. I slipped on some shoes, picked up my hand wraps and boxing gloves, and opened the door.
