What If

Seems like every potter I know has the seasonal doubts. This is not  really a lucrative profession and when the cash flow gets dammed up in January and February folks start wondering if they should have gone to Truck Driver Training School. It afflicts humble little part time potters as well as artists with international reputations. That little voice that keeps asking -"Am I good enough?", "Will anyone come to the show?", or "What if I forget my pants?" does keep quality control at a high level. It pushes people to produce their best work but that doesn't make it any easier to live with. Believe it or not, I don't have a solution to this one other than to say we all feel this way sometimes. If anyone has suggestions chime in down in the comments section.

 Here's a poem from Shel Silverstein

The What Ifs

Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some What ifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old What if song:
What if I'm dumb in school?
What if they've closed the swimming pool?
What if I get beat up?
What if there's poison in my cup?
What if I start to cry?
What if I get sick and die?
What if I flunk that test?
What if green hair grows on my chest?
What if nobody likes me?
What if a bolt of lightning strikes me?
What if I don't grow taller?
What if my head starts getting smaller?
What if the fish won't bite?
What if the wind tears up my kite?
What if they start a war?
What if my parents get divorced?
What if the bus is late?
What if my teeth don't grow in straight?
What if I tear my pants?
What if I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime What ifs strike again!