You'd really like this song

Something funny, but typical, happened today when I was meandering home from Metro station. I had just watched an excellent movie, and it inspired me to write a song. Let me tell you, it was an exceptional song. It had a groovin' African beat with all sorts of percussion instruments. It had a sweet acoustic guitar part that I probably would not have been able to actually play. It had beautiful words with a personal and political message.

I began to imagine myself singing it with a sweet, masculine honey/whisky voice (hey, a guy can dream, can't he?). I then began to imagine myself as an awesome, jazzy guitarist performing this song in a crowded, smokey night-club, where people in interesting clothes drank red wine, bourbon-cokes and dark, exotic beer. They all smoked Lucky-Strike cigarettes and listened to me with a purposefully un-revealed interest. My fantasy included a band filled with all my musical friends. We were tight, jazzy and innovative. The performance turned into a concert, for charity, of course. I began to imagine other songs, some of my own and a lot of my friends' song. I didn't have to be the star. Of course.

By this time, Albert's house (where I rent a room and living space with some great guys) was in view. Of course, my song was completely forgotten. It honestly might have been good, though I'd need to practice a lot more to pull the guitar part I had imagined.

I wonder if a real artist has to have a bit of humbleness, the kind you'd read about in the book of Proverbs. It takes this humbleness to focus on and appreciate the concept itself, not imagining yourself presenting it for praise and accolades, to recognize a piece of self-expression as a beautiful something that reflects a trait of our Creator, namely the ability create. Pride really does cometh before the fall.