I have no desire to be remembered…

I have no desire to be remembered, only experienced. The ironic part is that the more I follow my compulsion to create (and keep creating) the more the things I make leave behind a trail of memory. But that’s a necessary compromise. As long as that trail of memory leads simply to more curiosity and wonder, that’s fine.

My compulsion to create, however, is constantly remoulded by finite mediums. My life is, after all, finite, so I really have no interest in playing infinite games with the things I work on as a creative. There’s typically a cap, a limit to what I’m eager to contribute to a particular idea or space that interests me, and as soon as that quota is met, I have no issues whatsoever with stepping away and detaching from it; even when there’s more I could offer.

This, in itself, is an art of restraint that I relish: to know there could be more to produce and then deliberately hold back. That feels powerful.

There is, of course, the reality that even within the finite mediums one chooses to take on, whatever quota or limit one sets could still be expansive enough to demand a whole lifetime of pouring into it. That’s rare, but it exists.