Or how I hope to avoid a quest for perfection becoming all or nothing.
There are several videos taken of me that I haven’t even looked at because I didn’t want to see my flaws. I’m trying to be better at realizing that while perfection for me will be rare, if not impossible, it doesn’t mean that my music is unworthy of being heard and seen.
Thus, the ugly apple plan takes root.
When I was a child, my great-aunt and great-uncle would invite us down to their summer cottage along the Potomac River. Food was caught from the river and picked fresh from the garden. The apples trees were heirloom varieties whose names are lost, and our job as kids was to pick up all of the windfall for the cider press. Every apple, large or small, was thrown into the hopper - complete with worms, rotting bits, and roving bugs. To this day, I haven't tasted better cider.
Memories of that homemade cider encourage me to know that rare and tasty does exist among the bruises, and I need to let the juices drip off my chin, even if I get feedback to wipe that stuff off my face.