I often feel pangs of guilt when I make definitive choices about what to practise.
After all, the canons of the cultures I identify with have vast expanses of content and material.
Inner promptings tell me when to move on from specific genres, then I mourn for the time I invested in learning about them.
It’s as if I need to be loyal to my younger self, however misguided I might have been.
Energy and focused attention are more precious to me than they seemed to be, before.