When I was 12 or thirteen, something stole my soul. I don’t know what it was. My soul wants me to sit somewhere and do something that keeps me engaged and happy for hours on end. And that got lost. I don’t know where it went. I couldn’t get it back.
Now I finally have. After 25 years. The problem is that I have organised my life in a way that corresponds with my “lost soul self.” And so the way my life works these days doesn’t fit me anymore.
A couple of weeks ago, I finally understood why we need art in order to survive and make sense of the world. I had not properly understood this earlier. Is it good to finally get there at the age of 38? Or is it shamefully late?