Should I be ashamed of creating, and of taking a little pride in it? (Cometh before a fall). Of making a poem, a story real or fancied, and putting it out there? (Don’t do it on Facebook, you’re seeking attention. Yes, I am. Look, I have done this. Is it not better than looking at pictures of my breakfast or my cat, or endless political flame wars?)
Of being in a musical ensemble, wanting to sing, be heard, create songs, but being called out for performing? (We prefer a singalong, so don’t take center stage).
Why do painters paint? (Rhetorical)
When I see someone else’s beautiful work, I am sometimes at a complete loss as to how to show my love and appreciation of it, lest I appear clumsy or redundant or high-handed. (Note to self: if you like something, don’t read the comments, just go for broke.)
(Another note to self: false modesty is sickening. If someone gives you public praise, just smile)
Once, I was at a wedding reception, dressed to the nines, with a carnation (I think) pinned to my lapel. I was the best man, and had a prepared speech about the groom. Afterward, our band played off and on for the evening. Someone came up to me, looked at my flower, and said something that cut to the quick, and therefore perhaps has some truth: “You should be wearing the Narcissus”.