For those of you who don’t know me personally… I’m a total fat@ss! (at heart and in spirit, at least) But, neither my appetite nor the measures taken to counter its effects are of any significance here. Oh, no. The heaviness I’m addressing is more abstract and of a more melancholy nature, one that seems amplified this time of year, almost out of necessity, as if human potential, like a seed, requires stratification in order to germinate and develop into a fully realized dream.

As a studio artist, I am naturally a homebody, an introvert who requires little coaxing to stay in. But in the winter months, when the body goes into hibernation mode and the mind idles in standby, remaining indoors can feel enforced, somehow negating its comforts. Worse yet, when restlessness finally settles in and urges me to seek alternative diversions that draw me away from the canvas, my imagination turns ever more inward, sights set on the condition of my character, inspecting its contents and evaluating them for viability and sustainability, which inevitably leads me to question whether I’m being realistic (about anything); my aspirations and desires, fantasies and dreams. And to this, my answer is always a resounding, “Yes! (with an expletive)” – Though, not before a serious inner conflict is waged and won (in whole, or in part).

Only one lingering uncertainty persists, that of Love. (I know. I can hear all the big, warm hearts gushing. Awww!) But the truth of the matter is… I’ve left little room for it, never having needed its intoxicating impressions to feel whole. Though I’d also be entirely remiss to deny hoping for it (someday). I simply don’t know if I am (dare I say) programmed to appreciate such a relationship. Hell! I can hardly take care of myself, let alone, a wife and child (or multiple children, heaven forbid!)

And still, the thought surfaces… as if a universal, biological clock does exist, ticking away and urging us on without prejudice.

I’m a romantic, through and through, who knows how to Love fully and without regret. And I am a dreamer, as all artists are. But I know wholeheartedly that there will never be a “right time”. That will simply be a choice I’ll have to make when inspiration strikes. That’s what makes pondering the thought so pointless, like so many unnecessary pounds that need to be shed. Falling in Love is an incomprehensible and illogical occurrence that seems to take place against unfathomable odds and at moments when one least expects it, ready or not. So for now, I guess that lucky lady will just have to wait until such lawlessness finds me a worthy subject.

Until then… I just had to release the echo.

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