Past Safe Depth

I practice the opposite, I notice how my brain clings to the usual rules because rules feel safer, even when safe makes my work feel unintentional,
I practice the opposite, I admit I sometimes confuse convention with quality, then feel bored with myself and blame my talent instead of this fear,
I practice the opposite, I confess it scares me to do the reverse of what’s expected, because the moment I step off the path I lose the excuse of real life certainty,
I practice the opposite. I am asking myself honestly whether I am willing to look strange on purpose — to trust the experiment even when the result has no guarantee and no audience yet,
I practice the opposite. I attempt the contrary even when my footing is uncertain — and I allow the wavering, because I have learned that the unsteady middle is where most real things are actually made…

I question the right way, the conditioning was quiet and patient — it didn’t arrive as a rule but as a reflex, and I still catch it tightening around the new idea before I even have the chance to find out if it was worth making,
I question the right way, I admit I often edit myself before I’ve even begun, like I’d rather be approved than to be totally alive,
I question the right way, I confess the standards were never really about the work — they were about controlling what the world was allowed to see of me, before the world decided whether or not I was worth the looking,
I question the right way, there is a particular kind of loss that never announces itself — the surprising thing that never got made because correctness arrived first and took all the air out of the room before the idea could even introduce itself,
I question the right way, I loosen the rules; I let the work breathe; and I stay in the room long enough to find out what it actually wanted to become…

I often venture beyond my safe depth, I’ve noticed that comfort can make me lazy, not in terms of physical effort, but rather in terms of imagination; as if my mind ceases to explore once it feels secure,
I often venture beyond my safe depth, I admit the repetition itself was never the problem — it was the hollowness that moved in quietly underneath it, the morning I woke up doing the same thing and could no longer remember what any of it was actually for,
I often venture beyond my safe depth, I confess I want excitement without risk, and I’m embarrassed by that, because risk is the entry fee for anything what’s real,
I often venture beyond my safe depth, there is a particular moment in every attempt where the ground disappears beneath you — and I am learning to stay in that moment a little longer before I swim back to the familiar shore,
I often venture beyond my safe depth, I move into uncertainty and still the need to stay present…

I design my own resistance, I notice I keep waiting for challenges to appear, but the braver move is choosing a hard question and building around it,
I design my own resistance, I admit I’ve tried to solve the same kind of work over and over, because repetition feels efficient, even when it dulls the hell out of me,
I design my own resistance, I confess the loneliness of an original approach is its own particular weight — because alone means there is no reason to hide behind, no collective approval to soften the blow if what I made turns out to be only mine,
I design my own resistance, am I willing to follow a question that pulls me somewhere unfamiliar — past the edge of my own expertise, into the territory I have been circling but never entering,
I design my own resistance, I choose the harder question and begin — because the unfamiliar direction is the only one that still has the power to surprise me, and I refuse to spend the rest of my life making things that no longer have the ability to make me feel alive…

Watchwords:
Rules feel safe, and safe feels sleepy,
I’d rather be approved than alive,
Calling it standards, it was fear,
Risk is the entry fee for real,
I choose the harder question and begin,