My father had a massive coronary when I was in high school. The only reason he lived was because he happened to be at the hospital at the time for another operation.

While they operated on him to save his life they had to cut the circulation of his leg to build up pressure in his body to keep his heart pumping. They had to do this for so long that he lost the leg from just above the knee.

I have no idea if watching my father in pain and often weak for so many years affected me one way or another. I really don’t know. I’ve given up trying to attribute our “motivations” to our past circumstances. As much as possible I try to understand that we are what we do — and that’s pretty much it. People in terrible circumstances go on to be amazing, successful, loving people — or not. And people raised in the laps of luxury are often amazing, successful, loving people — or not.

That said, I can’t help the feeling that I’ve never been able to quite settle down because of my passion to actually grab for some love of life while I’ve got the chance. And for me the biggest love of life is all things art — painting, drawing, writing, movies… all of it. I don’t know how to let it go. To be making is like nothing else in the world for me.

I joke to friends that it is my anchor and my drug. It’s the only time I feel safe. And the only time I let all the cares of the world fade from me. In other words, I forget about all the stuff that’s waiting around the corner for me when I’m working on making something.

I’m not saying it’s healthy. I’m saying it’s who I am.