It has to come from the heart. If not, no one's going to listen.
I'm at a point of exhausted I haven't visited since I was lost on the West Coast some years ago. That was a space where each day was about surviving, not thriving. Making it to bed was an achievement because of the difficulty of the day. Stress will burn through anyone. For me, it lead to endless worries without detachment. Reality was too real, and work was sunup to sundown, trying to reach whoever would listen. I still worry, but have come to breathe in the space between. What's the point in making judgements about events that have yet to happen? Opportunity is always a breath away anyway.
We've got work to do. We've committed to fifty songs, but are just half way home. The magic only comes to those that show up. More than that, I know we don't have the form. Feeling it is where emotions take over. It's the difference between a melody and a hook, between a hearing and meaning. We can't settle. This means I will need to let the fire burn, even if it means going to a space where I lose control. That's the danger of making.
That's the risk.