This morning I sent some personal tidbits to Chris Mandeville, the wonderful president of the Pikes Peak Writers. I am about to start my gig as editor of the NewsMagazine, following a really tough act in Ms. Pat Kennelly. Chris' dog, Ruh, does a regular article on different members of the group and it's my turn. So I sent Chris any weird little thing I could think of.
One of the items that sprang to mind was that I've been teaching myself how to play the banjo for about ten years. And I still won't play anywhere I think someone else might hear me. When I've been practicing (which isn't often these days), I'm actually pretty good. And I enjoy it. So why not stick with it?
A lot of flippant answers present themselves, but the honest answer is that I just don't have the passion necessary to set aside time every day. It's fun. It makes me feel good when it's working. But it's not that important to me.
Writing, on the other hand, can be frustrating and hard and a huge slog. It can also be wonderful. But in either case I can't walk away from it. I can't imagine my life without writing. Whether it goes anywhere or not. It is a passion. Even though it's scary, I do let other people see my writing. Not because it's any better than my banjo playing but because I need the feedback in order to improve.
Maybe one day I'll have the time to work on both. And then when I go to the coffee shop to write, I may be able to pick up some spare change playing a tune or two.