For the making that was once yours and slipped out of your days, and for finding your way back to it without it becoming an obligation.

For the blank page and the whole evening that somehow goes by, and for making the beginning feel smaller and more possible.

For when good has become the enemy of made, and for letting yourself make something poor and enjoy every clumsy minute of it.

For the making you loved that became the making you sell, and for holding both the love and the living honestly.

A few plain moves for when you finally sit down to make something and your mind goes blank.

A few plain moves for the deflated hour after you share your work and nobody says anything.

A few plain moves for the fired-up moment you meet someone much younger who’s better at the thing you do, or used to do.