What is up—Understory Bard here, Wade Skalsky. On Creative Peril this week: how to pick—not a spouse, not stocks, not a horse—your creative thing, when you're a polymath who longs to do comedy, guitar, novels, and Cirque du Soleil the second you see someone crush it. If you never commit, it's always beginnings—like dating forever and bailing when the middle gets dicey. Hollywood dabblers were fascinating at cocktail parties and broke, with nothing finished. The fix: look at what you've actually taken action on (lessons, drafts, haikus), then ask what still calls when you're alone—no concert dopamine, no social media, just silence (Depeche Mode optional, sung to yourself). Risk the "calling of one": craft for you even if nobody else gets the four-levels-deep joke. Two tests over time: does the work not hang as an albatross (my commercial first draft had a "thank God I can fly a helicopter" line—awful), and when you see a master, do you feel appreciation instead of "I wish I could do that"? That's the creative clearing—confidence, clarity, your medium. From the garage bunker—talk soon.