The everyday traveler carries with them an over confidence that tomorrow will arrive. And yet I’m constantly told that tomorrow never gets here.
We set aside success exclaiming, “I’ll do it tomorrow!”
The assumed wise man of self love once said to me, “Wars are not fought; they’re won.”
My choice was to argue with this cloud chaser’s life long experiences, “That means someone lost.”
“It doesn’t matter!” The tattered but well dressed soul elected to bounce off his unexpected aggressor, “Preparation keeps you from sitting on the bench of failure.”
In normal rush hour traffic when belting out volume doesn’t seem fitting for the current scene, I usually spout like Old Faithful, “I’m going to disconnect from this conversation without furthering your efforts of wanting to misdirect ten lanes of traffic. Failure doesn’t arrive from unprotected preparation; the birth of war is delivered when confidence is given too much faith. He who believes the most often wins.”
Click…phone tone.
Ridiculed constantly are my feet. Not only do they fit perfectly into my big open Montana made mouth but the shoes I wear don’t often resemble the norm. Daily I accept the challenge to locate the Grand Poo-Paw of ten little piggy protectors; the design that keeps me on my toes.
Mom convinced me that being on my toes kept the chapters I write out of danger.
Master Harris was endless with his effort, “Pick up your heal! It’s a brake! Pivot on those toes!”
The assumed wise man of self love was brilliant with his display of faith; I being an artist dressed up in human clothes didn’t embark on verbal Tae Kwon Do to win a war but instead to deepen his roots of faith.
Master Harris was adamant in crafting the best instructors by keeping them connected to a single line of always being the student.
A Broadcasting friend of twenty plus years called me yesterday, “I finally did it! I’ve said yes to teaching.”
That single moment meant more to me than every slice of art he poured into a radio listener’s ears. Instead of looking at up-and-coming speaker talkers as competition; it’s become his path to step from the wars won and give back to the ancestry that which feeds the very reasons we stand on this stage.
When the image in the mirror no longer owns a key to the tiny perks that ignite your art…that’s the universes way of saying, “Its time to let someone steal your art.”
Master Harris taught us to view the future by recognizing not mistakes but untrained steps. Once identified, apply it to the trails you blaze.
The bathroom mirror might bend like a state fair attraction because it’s not used to seeing your true skills being shared therefore it reacts as if its being burped up like bad Chinese food.
Tomorrow may never come but the future has already happened.
Wars may not be fought but victory tends to blind us.
If being accepted is without a doubt one of the requirements of survival; allow someone steal your art.
Trust me; billions of dollars are spent in everyday Corporate American offices including the biggest baddest White House on earth in Washington DC to locate why India, China, and Japan are triumphant in the money making financial war.
Seriously, has anybody stopped to think the United States of America taught them? The rightful thing isn’t to given in like losers, whine and mope around like a two year old on crack sugarcoated candies or wave our weapons of mass destruction in their faces.
The time has come for us to be the student. We allowed them to steal our art…now its time to create new ideas. It’s our way of giving back to the ancestry that which feeds the very reasons we stand on this stage.
I will always believe in you first…
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
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