I love coincidences – apparently unrelated events that become connected, otherwise known as synchronicity. Well, this morning a coincidence popped up, and it was perfectly in sync with my day.

Let me set the stage.

It’s 10:30 on a Sunday morning. I’m still in my fuzzy pink bathrobe. My hair’s a mess. I have raccoon eyes, probably, although I haven’t checked myself in the mirror yet. I’m hiding behind an open door.

What could possibly explain my situation, and my unkempt appearance?

It’s simply this: I was up late last night. I couldn’t help it. I’d spent hours reading. Playing guitar. Watching TV.

Doing a crossword puzzle, browsing YouTube, researching a literary agent online.

Cutting my hair.

Combing through my possessions for doodads to enhance my vendor table at a book fair next weekend.

And cleaning out two closets that suddenly seemed to be jam-packed with clothes I couldn’t believe I’d actually spent good money on, and never wear anymore.

Just an average Saturday night.

Is it any surprise, then, to find me cowering behind my back door late Sunday morning, with one extended hand on my dog’s leash, the other on the doorknob, awaiting the moment we were both safely back inside the house? I wasn’t hung over, just hung UP on one horrifying thought: What if my neighbors see me?

I knew if that happened, and if they asked if I was okay, I probably shouldn’t dive into the litany of activities I’ve just revealed to you: the playing, watching, puzzling, researching, cutting, combing and cleaning I’d spent hours on the night before. Better to just utter a simple excuse before ducking back inside my house. But what could I say? The words “I’m an artist” suddenly sprang to mind. After all, artists are allowed to stay up late and sleep in the next day.

But is that true? I asked myself. AM I an artist? No, absolutely not. Not really. Well, maybe. I just wasn’t sure.

Do artists cower behind doors, dressed in fuzzy pink bathrobes?

Why yes, I suddenly remembered, they do! I’d seen Michael Douglas do just that in Wonder Boys, where he plays an English teacher trying to write a novel. His bathrobe was fuzzy! And pink! (I think it was his wife’s, but that’s beside the point.) Hmm. The idea of calling myself an artist was starting to seem more plausible.

I ate a big breakfast, still ensconced in my robe, after which I listened to the audiobook I’d begun recently: Miracle and Wonder, by Malcolm Gladwell – an extended interview with musician Paul Simon.

When I came to the part where Simon was asked about his motivation to experiment with music, I was stopped in my tracks by his response:

I really didn’t like being called an artist. Until I was in my 40s, I didn’t accept that. I just felt like, no, I’m not an artist. And when I was in my 40s, I took courses around the time of Graceland … I said, well, actually, I AM an artist. It doesn’t mean I’m a GOOD artist, it’s just a personality type. Some people make up stuff all the time, they can’t help it, they make it up. But, you know, it doesn’t mean you’re a … you could be a bad artist, you could be a great artist! But it’s a kind of a type of person. – Paul Simon

I laughed out loud when I heard that! There’s your answer, I told myself. Paul Simon just spoke to you! Paul Simon had imposter syndrome, and he overcame it. And you should, too. You ARE an artist!

I’m no longer going to hide behind a figurative door, fearing to call myself an artist. No, I’m going to wave my fuzzy pink flag proudly. My art might not be great, or even good, but I AM making stuff up (and enjoying the process).

By now you’re probably wondering what selection of songs, TV shows, and books could possibly have kept me up and interested until the wee hours of Sunday morning. Well, here they are, in no particular order:

TV: The final episode of the Netflix series, All the Light We Cannot See. It’s just beautiful, all the way through. Great acting within a story that’s simultaneously deep, dark, and uplifting, based on Anthony Doerr’s lyrical, Pulitzer prize-winning novel by the same name. The blind woman who plays the part of Marie beat out thousands of sight-impaired actors for the role, despite the fact that she’d had no previous acting experience or training. And it was her first audition! Now that’s an artist!

Hardcover book: The List of Things that Never Change, by Rebecca Stead. It’s a wonderful book written for middle grade kids, about a girl with two dads who sees a shrink, wishes she had a sister, and never gets 10 out of 10 on a spelling test (and therefore never gets to eat lunch with her teacher on Fridays). That’s all I know about it so far, and it’s so good I had a hard time putting it down last night.

Audiobook: Miracle and Wonder, by Malcolm Gladwell. I highly recommend it for anyone who’s interested in music, creativity, songwriting, or Paul Simon.

Songs: The songs I practiced on my guitar (26 altogether) before watching TV included ones written by Gordon Lightfoot, Paul Simon, Steve Goodman, Neil Young, Bob Dylan, The Beatles, Jill Sobule, and me. I spent a significant portion of the time listening to recordings of Paul Simon playing Homeward Bound and Still Crazy, trying to copy his fingerings (but not succeeding too well). Nonetheless, the act of listening to the chords and trying to break them down into individual notes is, for me, both fascinating and rewarding.

Crossword Puzzle: The Sunday New York Times. It was around 12:05 a.m., and technically Sunday morning, when I started it. I finished it today during breakfast.

YouTube: After searching “how to set up book festival vendor table,” I watched How to Create the Best Vendor Booth for a Pop-Up Shop by Monica Razak, and it inspired me to run around the house searching for props for displaying my books, crafts, business cards, etc. This somehow led to the cleaning out of closets. I’m not sure why. An artist works in mysterious ways.

Featured image (hearts): PIRO @ Pixabay