Feeling like a fraud, meeting your heroes
“If you like the painting, don’t get to know the painter.”
... I think it goes something like that.
Sometimes it’s true. Sometimes the painter is a douchebag.
Or not. Sometimes you stand next to them, but don’t want to say anything. It doesn’t feel like the right time. Or you don’t want to interrupt them. Let them live the normal life. Or you don’t know what to say. Or you don’t want to appear too fan-girly.
Or you want to have something to offer, you want to be worthy, you want to be good enough. If there’s nothing, then they don’t even have to know who you are.
So you keep dancing, shoulder to shoulder, and then you leave - with a warm, warm memory in your heart.
... I think it goes something like that.
Sometimes it’s true. Sometimes the painter is a douchebag.
Or not. Sometimes you stand next to them, but don’t want to say anything. It doesn’t feel like the right time. Or you don’t want to interrupt them. Let them live the normal life. Or you don’t know what to say. Or you don’t want to appear too fan-girly.
Or you want to have something to offer, you want to be worthy, you want to be good enough. If there’s nothing, then they don’t even have to know who you are.
So you keep dancing, shoulder to shoulder, and then you leave - with a warm, warm memory in your heart.