It is when you can’t be bothered. That is when you should create. Beauty does not come from perfection. It comes from a practice. An embrace of repetitious auditions. How can one get better if we lay there waiting?
What will happen? Who is to blame for our own mistakes? This life will not carry us like a child. It is our harvest that is planted. The winds may aid in the flight of a sail.
We must pull the rope and steer on. Complaints drag the feet of our own lazy excuses. No one is listening to a life unsung. Tune that guitar, pick up that note, but do not stand there looking out.