Flying too high

Coming back home a few weeks ago, I caught a radio programme – one of those start-the-day type programmes on Radio 4.  One of the people featured was a young poet, Kate Tempest, talking about her latest work.

Now, I am not a poetry lover and I’m not particularly keen on rap either. Despite that, I found myself very drawn to Kate’s work, enough to look her up when I got home and listen to much more. One poem in particular caught my attention:

I like the idea that, just possibly, by trying to reach the sun  Icarus gained a moment of pleasure so great that it made the fall – well, maybe not exactly worthwhile – but at least less completely without point.

I often wonder why I do what I do. I never quite feel good enough, never quite feel satisfied with where I am. So I continue to push, to experiment and to attempt to move forwards. Onwards and upwards, much like Icarus. Most of the time, it doesn’t work or I try too hard to be clever and fail. I crash and burn. But just occasionally, just briefly, before the doubts and the criticisms set in again, I get a moment of real pleasure from having made something. I’d like to start by making myself an Icarus to remind myself that those moments are worth it, however much gravity (and my abilities and doubts) pull me back down to earth.

 

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