There comes a point in time when the words stick in your throat and your hands crumble to dust, your voice is out of tune and your brain begins to rust. You forget you have anything to share, the thought exists but the confidence is not there. You critique and bemoan, you jeer and scorn at your own timid expression, the honest and pure, albeit cheesy, truths. It becomes easier to stand still and not move at all than mistake small glories for greatness. It becomes easier to be quiet and not speak at all than mistake inspiration for wisdom. It becomes easier and easier, until you are nothing, were nothing, and will be nothing - it becomes easier and easier to be free.

Free to live, to dance, to exist without a thought of legacy or production or service or community. Free from responsibility, from pressure, from everything else that plagues to smart and ambitious.