In love, we realize how difficult and how scary it is to open ourselves up, to put our hearts on the line and to risk it all, because maybe it won’t work out after all. Maybe we’ll end up heartbroken. Disappointed. Alone.
And yet we open anyway.
And even when the worst happens– even when we find our hearts shattered and our pillowcases stained with tears, we end up looking back and saying “I’d do it all over again.” We come to realize that, pain or no pain, the risk was well worth it.
It was worth it because we have become truer versions of ourselves in the process– because while the broken heart hurts, the shielded heart hurts even more.
Art is like that, too.
The act of creation is an act of love, and when we expose our truest work to the world, we are putting our very hearts– our very selves– on the line.
And yet as much as we hope our creations are well received (or even paid notice at all), the true reward doesn’t lie in the world’s reaction, in its indifference or criticism or praise.
No, the true reward lies in the very act of opening.
And so we open.
We open over
and even though we are petrified each time,
and even in the paralyzing seconds and minutes and hours that we stand frozen like trainwrecked bundles of nerves, simultaneously fearing and craving the world’s reaction, our chests pumping like ticking timebombs,
We remind ourselves once again:
What matters most is not the outcome.
What matters most is who we are becoming in the process of risking it all.
In love, in life and in art, risk is the price of admission.
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[Image by bored-now]