What stays interesting to you when nothing else does?
Why does it matter to remember what you've done?
What constitutes a memory?
What will people know about you after you're gone?
If someone found your journal in an attic in one hundred years would they want to read it?
Does your work reflect your own life? Does it have to?
Does it matter who made the work?
Do you care what kept Dostoyevsky up at night?
Does it matter what Stravinsky's first memory of childhood was?
Why do you want to read an interesting stranger's journal?
Why do you think those thoughts are more genuine than conversation?
(Because no one will tell you everything. Every interaction involves a mask.)
Will you ever forget what your grandmother's house smelled like?
Can you ever separate a song from the significant place you heard it?
Why does lighting tug your heartstrings?
Can you show the way a moment felt in a photograph?
Will anyone else care about your work?
Do they need to?
Does art need to be "useful"?
Does your "work" actually need to be doing any "work"?
Is creating work therapeutic or is it necessary for making sense of the world?
If it's necessary, is that an advantage or a disadvantage?
Do you see the world on a deeper level or are you just unable to enjoy the now?
Should you talk to someone about this?
You should probably just ride it out.
Where did this second-person thing come from?
Keep making yourself uncomfortable to avoid stagnating.
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