No photo today.

With the internal work I've been doing, this has been time to look at my anger. 48 years of anger, piled up and not accessed for most of it. Denial is a wonderful thing. Ignorance truly is bliss.

For the last two weeks my anger has been tangling me in its vines, tightening across my chest. By yesterday morning I was suffocating. It needed to come out and my fingers flew across the keyboard. From there it sat...not knowing if I'd even post it. 36 hours later, here it is.

Warning, rant ahead...

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On anger.


The more I'm learning to feel all that's inside, the greater those feelings are becoming. Anger. Especially anger.

The anger is increasing to an immensity I didn't think could be felt. Its enormousness scares me. I fear I'll become the bitter old person, locked in chains of rage. But it seems that bitter old people are born of those who don't access, work through and heal from anger. Or so I'm told.

The anger is all the same. It's not only a grief around not fitting in but a rage that's hot and red. While in this anger I detest organized groups of all kinds. If there's a label, I see hyposcrisy. I see denial and people shape-shifting to fit….to be loved…to be part of something greater. In that voracious hunger, they become blinded to their own personal reality. Blinded to values such as compassion, trust, recognition of boundaries...all the very things extolled in s/m scenes yet sadly fall to the wayside once stepped out of the dungeon.

I'm angry because there is too much compartmentalization in our world.

I'm angry because I can't seem to find those who are willing to live in the margins of existence, knowing the truth that we are each individual and therefore although can come together lightly for joined interests, still keep an open heart and piercing eyes…able to see the dark truth that lays within each one of us.

I'm angry because I seek warriors and when I think I've touched one they disappear upon contact.

I'm angry because I feel ostracized, discarded, rejected, abandoned for being human. For daring to speak my truth. For daring to be all that I am. For daring to take shaky steps toward growth and greater strength.

I'm angry. Born a freak and a lifetime of being shoved in the corner has taken its toll. Hidden away by those who see me and don't know what to do with it.

Come here.
Go away.

You thrill me.
You scare me.

I'm angry because I've been working so fucking hard to be conscious of each step, and am so afraid to cause greater harm that I've silenced myself with fear.

I'm angry and I'm angry that I'm feeling angry because the anger brings on a big sense of victim which I loathe. I'm angry that I need to dredge up the muck to heal. I'm angry that I've had to spend $25K plus in therapy because I was born wrong and don't really fit in this world. I'm angry that I make people uncomfortable and I'm angry that they aren't strong enough to take me.

I'm angry that the world sucks as much as it is beautiful and I'm angry that I feel so much. I'm angry that I allow myself to be intimidated by others and I'm angry that I in turn intimidate. I'm angry with life and I'm angry with death. I'm angry that I'm angry that I'm angry. And some days I just can't stand it.

I'm angry that big feelings create discomfort and I'm angry that we aren't all born to grow up safe yet instead some of us have mothers holding our ankles while dangling us over the edge of a fiery crevice.

I'm angry and angry and more angry in a way I did not know existed. I'm angry at the ease of dishonesty. I'm angry at violation. I'm angry at betrayal. I'm angry with how we all cover our asses with excuses and justifications. I'm angry at our lack of responsibility and failure to own up to our shit. I'm angry at our denial. I'm angry at our capacity to hurt each other consciously or unconsciously. I'm angry that we were so wounded as children. And I'm angry at how we use a sense of perceived radicalism to prove to the world how cutting edge we are when in fact we are hiding from greater intimacy.

I'm so fucking angry I can't stand it sometimes and it's wearing me out. I'm angry about the fact that I need to almost throw up most days because I feel the bile and poison that's settled into this body after years of excommunication.

I'm angry that although I was entitled to my anger I wasn't entitled to my feelings of needing to apologize.

I'm angry that I have the great desire to paint yet not the physical stamina to paint in the way I desire.

I'm angry that my trust was broken. Shattered.

And I'm really angry that even in expressing this anger I see the vast narcissicism within myself.

I wish I were clearer inside, instead of angry and confused.
I wish I could see this before it leaves in July.
I wish I didn't always have to be the one to make the first move.
I wish I had more energy to paint for longer periods.

I wish I had a magical twitchable nose.

Thinking about the figure painting I showed you last night...I know what direction to go in with a brand new one. Today I'll pick up fresh canvas. The space between background and figure needs to break apart. There is some fear in doing that and not sure why. I can work abstracts but when there is a figure subject (instead of landscape or still life) it's hard for me to really blow it apart...shift the space between the concrete and ethereal. Yesterday's excitement was because I've come closer to that goal with this particular painting. Time for intense exploration.

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I woke all angry and hurt this morning. Nothing new. It still happens about 98% of the time and I'm so over it...can't wait for it to cease. While immersed, it's some of the loneliest stuff ever. Damn...

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SIFF began on Thursday. It snuck up on me this year. Also, for a while now, I haven't been in the mood to go to films as frequently as I used to but I did purchase tickets for today's screening. A friend, who is a writer, and I are going to see Chris and Don: A Love Story. A film on the relationship of writer, Christopher Isherwood and painter Don Bachardy.

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It's good that tomorrow's a holiday.

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The photo. Yes, it's very similar to yesterday's photo. It was one of those shots where crying out to be taken in color and b&w.

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The chestnut trees are in full bloom. This morning they were heavy, laden with moisture...their flower petals slowing falling to the ground. The light, somber. It was a mystical sight.

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I look forward to the day I'm free...

I've been struggling with the above painting, 22x28, for a while now. It's one of the paintings that began as an abstract: pick a color, load the brush with paint, touch the bristles to the canvas and move the hand. Yeah...one of those hard ones. As I told a new friend yesterday while spending a delightful afternoon in a gallery, that type of painting is some of the scariest stuff I do in my life.

I'm still not pleased with it but it's getting somewhere. I think. After the morning's frustrating session on this particular piece I then pulled out the second figure painting, also 22x28. The first figure which I've shown you last week is still sitting. I haven't touched it since. But I began a second one...for looser exploration. You see, I'm not sure if I want to keep the first one more realistic, but desired to have another to use as a play painting. It was crudely drawn in because I chose to concentrate on color and shapes instead of realistically building form.

Today, after putting the top one away, I worked on the figure and came up with this. It was one of those moments where when I finally put down the brush I knew I had something. Right away I knew. So much so that tears fell as I stood back to stare. Rarely...does that feeling happen. Normally I can't judge a painting until the day after. This time...I knew.

Before leaving the studio I hung it next to the first one. In going back and forth it all made sense. Even though the abstract isn't resolved, the figure came to be because of the abstract. I can see one informing the other.

When I left the studio I thought it complete, but now in looking at the jpeg, I'm not sure. It doesn't matter. I'm curious to see what it looks like tomorrow. And I'll begin a third of the figure to push it even further.

In all this...is some of the magic of painting.

Today, after working in the studio, I stepped across the street to look and simply be. It's the first time since I've had the studio that I took advantage of the beauty that's found next to my painting space.

I think I'm pushing myself too hard.

Yes, there are many little strong positives that are finally being manifested after much time and therapy. There are still some very muddy areas where, for the first time in my life, I don't know how to resolve. This is teaching me that I can't fix everything and to let go of my idea of resolution. I need to trust that it will work out. Somehow. Some way.

The slow upswing comes from focusing on the tasks at hand. But this is where I'm tired. For a long time, I would take a couple vacation hours here and there, or flex my holiday time so I wasn't working full 40 hour weeks. In that, I'd get to the studio at a reasonable time.

For a little bit now, my schedule is such:

~At work by 6 am.
~Home at 4 pm.
~Sit quietly for about 45 minutes.
~Run out to catch the 5pm bus.
~Get off the bus a few stops earlier so I can walk and stretch my legs.
~Grab food on the way to the studio.
~Eat while looking at the paintings and figure out a sense of direction.
~Paint.
~Leave the studio between 6:30-7.
~Take the day's photo if something hasn't caught my eye already.
~Get off the bus early for more exercise...at Broadway and Pine so I can walk the length of Broadway and then up Republican. Walking up the really steep hill between 12th & 13th feels like I'm doing lunges.
~Home by 7:30
~Crash in front of the tv.
~Post daily photo.
~Try to be in bed by 9:30-10

That's my Monday - Thursday schedule.

The last couple days, I've barely lasted in the studio more than 20 minutes. But I've been pushing myself to paint something each time I'm there. And the work is progressing. There is another painting, an abstract, that I've been working on. I haven't worked on the original figure painting since last week. Too physically tired. The abstract painting is there for playing.

Another part of it is that this week I finally stopped taking something to help me sleep. After 9 months, it's time to wean off of Tylenol PM. I don't fall asleep until about 11, but I'm up about 4...only to doze off again into a heavy dream for a little bit and then up by 5:30.

I'm not complaining. There is much excitement with all the internal movement. There is also excitement with the painting. At the day gig, my head is still working faster and clearer than ever before, resolving problems and coming up with new ideas in a way that's honestly blowing me away. There is great pleasure overall with the photographs that I've been taking. This is all good. And it's not an emotional or mental depletion. Simply, my body is tired. And I'm sleepy much too much. So...I think it's time to recognize that maybe slowing down a little is needed...figure out how to revamp my days without giving up my daily studio stint.

The body can only do so much in a day. And yet...I don't want to be lazy. I've always been a "take the bandaid off quickly" kind of person, regarding pain. And I'm 48 friggin' years old. I feel like I've spent most of my life futzing around, scared, doubting myself...and I don't want lose anymore time. But...but maybe I have to cut myself some slack. How do I balance?


The photo shown is what I was going to post for yesterday's daily photo. A woman who sublets office space from us brought in onions from her garden to share. They just had to be shot.

Late afternoon sun at the Lusty Lady.

Pretty, huh? I saw that a few days ago while waiting for the bus home from the studio.

Speaking of lusty...I was this morning. I woke at 4:30 with a throbbing cunt, screaming to get filled. It surprised me and felt good. Little by little my sex is returning. It's disappearance, for one who jacks off at least twice a day, was truly unsettling. But at some point, I let go and trusted desire would return in time.

Although 99.98% of my sexual drive was gone, there have been a couple hot experiences during the last 9 months. Out of the blue I'd smell sex and well...you know. And each of those were perfect. For one who was feeling discarded and sexually repulsive, being adored in various ways over the last few months was some of what this busted heart needed. I truly hope I gave to each as much as I received. They were all wickedly and deliciously exciting.

As with anything else, time and focused energy spent on healing is helping. Waking up this morning in such a state was a nice little reminder that slowly it's coming all back.

Hop On Pop


I shot this yesterday afternoon while in the bookstore. The shop clearly has a wonderful and twisted sense of humor.

Therapy appointment this morning and it was good. He was very thrilled for a few reasons, one being how quickly my energy returned after Saturday's all day staff/board retreat.

Yesterday was wonderful. Matt called and we did a late breakfast...about 1:30pm. After food and a couple drinks we walked all the way down to REI so he could return some rental equipment and then walked back up Denny Hill. A stop at the half-priced bookstore was productive. I scored a fabulous book of drawings: Claus Oldenburg Drawings in the Whitney Museum of American Art.

One thing I love, love, love is looking at drawings by sculptors. I always have. This books fucking rocks.

Here is a link to his website.

And here are some of his drawings.

This collection of drawings is full...full of various styles and techniques. It's an eclectic grouping of mark-making. There is such a sense of freedom that leaps off the pages. The website of drawings I linked to doesn't come close to representing the width and breadth of what's found in the book.

I also scored a $17 moleskin for $7, a $3 blank journal made with excellent paper stock and with Flash Gordon on the cover, a collection of essays by Jonathan Lethem and one other book that's currently left my head. I can't remember the name.

The weather was perfect, I wore shorts for the first time this season, spent an afternoon with a close friend, exercised the body, head and heart.

Good stuff.

It's the little things that matter. Small changes that slowly happen with more frequency are things I can trust. Building blocks...reassurance that therapy, when one really sinks their teeth into it, can work. It works when change is from the inside out.

Last night, I was so very depleted after a full day of processing/dreaming at our staff/board retreat. It's always a productive time, in a space where people feel safe to throw out large, even zany ideas. Some of our current, very successful and cutting edge programs have evolved from such nuggets spoken years past.

Normally, in addition to being fried the night of, I'd also be spent for a day or two afterward. In the last 6 months or so, I've watched my energy bounce back so much quicker after big social/energy pulling events.

This morning I'm not as empty as I would have been a year ago. It feels so good. Some may think it's not a big deal, but unless you've experienced the massive depletion that's come in the past after days like yesterday, you'd note that it's a big deal. There is energy to do laundry in the next hour and even not hole up in my apartment today. The strength is deliciously fine because it's sunny, dry and it will only be 70 today, compared with yesterday's 90. Perfect to spend time outdoors.

My shrink told me years ago that at some point, if I persisted, one change I'd notice would be a speedier bounce back with energy. For a while I was honestly beginning to not believe him anymore. The times I despair and doubt even my shrink make for very bleak moments.

When one spends years toiling, sweating and suffering over their garden, struggling with doubts that they are really doing the healthy thing, knowing the bulk of their friends don't understand why they'd put themselves through such a wringer, wondering if it will ever really get better and then see small buds spring forth is...well...I don't have words for it.

It is very, very good.

I've also been noticing other very exciting changes and hope to write about it at some point. I've been waiting to see if they were only the first gleam of awareness which is thrilling but frustrating because then it takes more time before it's rooted in my heart and becomes a greater part of my being.


On another note, remember the surprise 50th anniversary weekend at the beach we are planning for my parents? The clues are in the form of silly little poems. It was time for their 2nd clue and I penned this a couple days ago:

Past summers of many vacations
Assisted to ease the frustrations
Let's see if the weather
Will bring us together
For fun, food, sun, love and libations

EDIT: I emailed the poem 2 days ago so it's too late to change it now. But in rereading it again, the last line should be:

For food, fun, sun, love and libations

It flows better.

It's not only sunny but quite warm already. According to reports it should go up to near 90. (15 degrees too warm for me...but it's okay.)

Driving on Wednesday a strange occurrence: a pine cone fell from this massive tree right in front of my car. It doesn't sound like much but it was incredibly trippy. I could almost see the direct line from the branch to pavement. A little mini bomb.

Yesterday I was off from work because we are in a staff/board retreat on Saturday. So I spent early afternoon in the studio. While walking to the studio a couple moms with a passle of teens stopped me. "Do you know where the subway is?"

My jaw dropped.

"You're in the wrong city. We don't have subways."

One of them looked at me...puzzled. The other began to say "...the bus tunnel." Oh, okay, they need directions to the bus tunnel. I opened my mouth and the puzzled one interjected "Subway! The sandwich shop!".

We all laughed. Then I directed them to go 4 blocks south.

Now, unlike the photo which was also shot yesterday from the bus, it's time for my sandals and then off to the studio.

The figure painting after the third session, which was Tuesday. I will keep redrawing as the painting continues. It's what I do. So I'll nail parts, and then it gets destroyed...to hopefully hit it again. If you scroll down to the May 8th entry, you'll see the second session.

Yesterday and today I worked on three other paintings. It now looks encouraging that I'll have a few pieces to show for June's First Thursday art walk instead of full on messes. Otherwise the First Thursday showing would consist of a large white wall with one small 9x12 painting. Which I suppose isn't a bad thing.

Today's daily photos consist of scenes from the bus window on my way down to the studio

In thinking some more about the loss of Robert Rauschenberg, I was reminded of my first foray into abstraction. Once again, it was my thesis year. And, it was in the advanced drawing class I spoke of a couple entries back. My prof spoke of the Roberts...Rauschenberg and Motherwell, often.

One of our assignments was a drawing. Fully abstract...and with the use of collage. The program I was in was pretty traditional, and so this was the first time (the 5th year of the program) where I was required to blow something apart. I was at such a loss. It was a very self-conscious piece. I think it's still tucked away in my portfolio stored at my parent's home.

During that same year, one of my thesis paintings came out pretty abstract.

This one (the jpeg carries more contrast than the original):




But it was a natural evolution. I remember not even knowing how it happened. It just did. I also had the sense that this painting was a premonition of future work. That was in 1996. The painting sold immediately in the thesis show and it is the only painting I regret selling. To this day I wish I had it around to study it. It was, other than the drawing assignment, the first and last time I veered so far from realism. Until this past year and a half.

I don't feel I know much more about abstraction than I did then. Well maybe one thing. In my own work, I can't intellectualize it. I have nothing to compare it to. For me, it's all about gut. Either it feels good or it doesn't. And in that vein, it ends up relying more on intuition than anything else.

Yeah, it makes painting abstraction a very scary proposition. I wonder if it will ever get easier...become more skilled. Or maybe it will always be a terrifying task.

I periodically think of that tough professor and mentally thank him for pushing my boundaries.

Robert Rauschenberg
Pilgrim, 1950
mixed mediums with wooden chair, ca. 79 x 54 x 19 in.
Hamburger Kunsthalle


Robert Rauschenberg, Titan of American Art, Is Dead at 82.

"Robert Rauschenberg, the irrepressibly prolific American artist who time and again reshaped art in the 20th century, died Monday night...

...A painter, photographer, printmaker, choreographer, onstage performer, set designer and, in later years, even a composer, Mr. Rauschenberg defied the traditional idea that an artist stick to one medium or style. He pushed, prodded and sometimes reconceived all the mediums in which he worked."


The first time I heard of Rauschenberg was in 1995-96, during my thesis year. I had an intense professor who absolutely admired Rauschenberg's work and so would speak of him. This prof is the one who, upon first viewing my series completed after a 3 month summer fellowship, snapped out "what the fuck is this shit?"

Yeah, he was a hard-ass. And I loved him for it. This was in stark contrast to my painting mentor who would say "we don't want to beat up our prize race horse" when I questioned why all the profs were easy on me during my first thesis review.

I took advanced drawing with Harney (the tough prof), and instead of twice a week 2 hour classes, he switched it up. We were in class, drawing nonstop (except for a short lunch) for 8 hours on Fridays. During one of those sessions, Harney gave me one of the best compliments I've ever received from a prof. Watching me work, he stood over me, watching...and then quietly said "now you're getting somewhere." I'll never forget it.

The class was rigorous and therefore fabulous. And it was where I learned about Rauschenberg. Intellectually, I couldn't understand his work but intuitively, I enjoyed it immensely. There's a complexity and depth that is incredibly sexy.

Whenever I think of Robert Rauschenberg, I can't help but think of that happy time in my life.

This weekend was an amazing weekend. It was one of those times where I wanted to curl up in a corner and cry for three days...recluse myself so my feelings wouldn't ooze out onto everyone else. But Mike was visiting from B.C. and so, it ended up being a very social weekend. I felt raw...my heart hurt something fierce on and off...and despite what I was feeling...I spent much time with friends, great food, wine and some loving.

And it was good.

It was magical in the sense that through his eyes, I saw my world with new wonder. I'm grateful to him for that.

My friends were supportive and very loving. Although I haven't spoken with them about all I'm going through, they were still there. Mike, watching and engaging in all our interactions, saw the closeness. He reminded me, because of his observations, that we are a circle of adults who live as adults. As he remarked a few times over the weekend...it's not a group of high schoolers in the body of grownups, which we've all experienced and seen, yet vitally alive, honest, present people. Clear communication. Sensitive to each other's space.

I saw that this weekend. They sensed when I'd create a circle of distance because of great pain. They allowed me to be, while showing their compassion with a hand on my thigh...a simple touch, a smile, a hug. Very few words would need to be spoken. Nothing more than "I'm having a bad morning..." and they were there.

No one felt they needed to fix anyone. It was refreshing.

It took someone new to show me how fortunate I am.


Meeting Mike was a pleasure. He's a quiet man. Empathetic. Insightful. We spent quite a bit of time together on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Many walks and easy conversation. It made for a painting break.

This afternoon, although still feeling raw, I returned to the studio and worked two paintings. I haven't touched the figure piece since last week, but will soon.

From yesterday's studio time...




It's the second work session on the figure piece. Tonight, I went in to work some more, but was/am much too fried. I wonder if I'm pushing myself too hard, yet still determined to at least get my ass down to the studio. Once there, there wasn't any way I could work on this piece. So instead, I pulled the tired little 9x12 still life I showed you the other day and played on that for a bit.

It's the 3rd day I worked on this little piece and as you can see, it doesn't look anything like what I first showed you.




So who knows what the figurative painting will end up like?

Simple joys

Every work morning, J and I spend a few minutes checking in with each other. Sharing. Talking. Sometimes very intimate conversations. Sometimes silly. He's my coworker/confidante. It's odd. We don't get together outside of the office but we are each aware of the other's importance in our lives.

This morning he asked "what's your mood today?" I had just been internally struggling to figure out that very thing. Looking at him, still confused, I couldn't reply. He smiled and added "somewhere between fine and broken?"

"That's it exactly."

He can always read me. And in that, he allows me to be.


Small joys, such as this morning or another, yesterday, are important.

During our Wednesday staff meeting we were speaking about being more mindful of living greener, not only personally but as an organization. Example: we are now leaving cloth shopping bags near the door to take to the grocery store down the block.

Someone was giving out little prizes for ideas. I was handed a prize for simply suggesting that we purchase the paper towels that tear into half sheets, instead of the full sheets that are more wasteful.

The prize was a Preserve toothbrush also known as the toothbrush made from yogurt cups. It's so incredibly very cool. The cost isn't much more than a regular toothbrush and it is made from recycled plastic. The packaging is also a travel case. And it comes with a prepaid envelope to ship it back for further recycling. You can pick them up at Trader Joe's or go to their website to order online or find another store. When I checked their online store, I noticed a subscription service. They'll automatically send you a new one in the time you designate.

This silly little toothbrush makes me happy. A combination of the concept, the shape and the color. I grab the happy when I find it. No matter how trivial it may appear on the surface, it's crucial.

This is the painting I wrote about here in the troll's eye entry. It's the first rough painted sketch, 20 minutes of work, 22"x28", and still needs to be redrawn. I can see all sorts of problems with the figure, first being the head is too large and the knee not large enough. But I'm very pleased with the fluidity of the line. Today in the studio I built it up some more and am curious to see at what step it ends up getting blown apart.

Seeing...


Yesterday was a very long day. In at 6 am, and worked on a report that fully confuses me each time. But finally...finally after 8 years of struggling and tweaking the criteria, I have something. By the end of the day I was mentally and physically exhausted.

Home for dinner and rest. I honestly didn't expect to go into the studio yet planned on taking a bath and being in bed very early. But while posting yesterday's daily photo, I knew I had to go in.

On my way out the door, I impulsively grabbed a little pocket sketchbook and threw it in my bag. While at the bus stop I began quick sketches of people. How much can be captured before they walk away? With this I committed myself to carrying it around again and sketching everywhere, as I used to do. Draw people.

Arriving at the studio, the exhaustion weighed heavy and so chose to simply play for a bit on a new canvas. I pulled out a large art magazine and decided to work the figure.

Within 20 minutes, the basic structure was on canvas. Relief set in. I was thrilled that once again, a brush in my hand can see more than pen on paper.

The painted lines excited me.

I had feared that from months of focusing on abstraction my seeing skills had disappeared. But they haven't.

Then truly spent, I rushed out to meet the bus. On the ride home I chuckled inside because of the absurdity of a one hour roundtrip bus ride to work only a half hour in the studio knowing I was so tired to begin with. There was no good or logical reason to force myself into the studio except for one...I couldn't do anything else but go down.

This morning while relaying the story to my confidante/coworker, J, a memory came to mind. Back in 1996, during my thesis year, I envisioned a series of paintings. It was very different than what I was doing at the time. These dream paintings were a combination of figurative and abstraction. I've yet to do the paintings.

The figurative lines painted last night were the lines I had seen in those imagined paintings 12 years ago.

I look forward to seeing how it all evolves and expands.

A little of this, a little of that~


Some interesting photography by Dominic Rouse. Flip thru his folio. His work will be on exhibit at the Benham Gallery in August.

Speaking of the gallery, Stephen Rosen, an architectural photographer, is currently hanging. Nice stuff.

A fun blog - The Post-It Project blog, entirely of doodles sketched on post-its.

While on the flight to NYC I read the draft of a short story I was asked to illustrate. It's so visual that even while reading, my hand was quickly sketching ideas on various pages.

It's clearly time for new jeans. All my jeans except my 501's are falling off of me. Thing is, I hate shopping for clothes and will put this off as long as possible. Buying books and art supplies are one thing whereas clothes buying is a chore.

There is now a date. We will officially beginning filming our short porn flick on May 24th. I envision the first day of shooting as a time to see what problems arise (as well as other things) and to work out the kinks.

The painting is finally beginning to turn around. I still don't know what I'm doing or where it's headed, but as of last night, for the first time in 4 weeks, it feels better.

Jonathan Cainer is one of the astrologers I pay attention to. My May horoscope, considering what I've been struggling with, is so incredibly perfect:

Capricorn: Did Michelangelo, whilst lying on his back one day, with a paint brush between his teeth, look up at the ceiling of the Cistine chapel and think, "Oh no, I have painted this all wrong, I had better start again." And what about Mozart? Did he get nearly to the end of his horn concerto before wishing he had written it for a violin instead? We shall never know. History rarely records doubt. It only remembers acts of impressive certainty. When you look back on what's happening in your life now, you will see it as the time you created your masterpiece. Don't let passing, irrelevant anxieties distract you.