Tell me, Oh muse

Taking tea on a dark autumn night last year, Katy and I were talking about our respective dreams of acting and singing, divulging our secret hopes of producing true art with our gifts.

Katy said, "I think what often holds me back from trying is the fear of succeeding."

I fear it.

It makes me nervous, anxious, excited--like I want to dance with it and avoid it at the same time.

Once I do something really well, then I feel the pressure of performing to the same heights of excellence every time I perform, which only means more opportunity for failure! Oh, no.

What if I win once, then what happens the second time around? What if we find I have nothing real, nothing substantial, nothing deeper than that one talented moment?

No, that can't be true. I must have it. It comes from somewhere deeper than even I know; from the remotest part of me (somewhere down near my feet... or no, my guts)--those sehnsuchts I cannot bait to the surface with words.

Isn't that the point? To put it in words? To make it accessible to our thin minds and our fragile ears?