Walking two worlds

There’s a particular kind of ache that comes from waking up and knowing the hours ahead won’t be yours.

Not fully. Not creatively. Not soulfully.

You wake up, you clock in, you answer calls, you sit in meetings. You do the job. You do it well. And all the while, there’s a quiet scream inside you that says:
I just want to make something.

I want to chase the spark.
I want to lose track of time in a melody.
I want to feel like the work I’m doing matters, not just to someone’s balance sheet, but to someone’s soul.

And yet, here we are—walking two worlds.
One that pays the bills.
One that feeds the fire.

I’m not here to pretend I’ve figured it out. Most days, I haven’t.
Some mornings I sit in the Airstream, coffee in hand, and I can feel the tension in my chest. The desire to break free. The fear of what happens if I do.

But here’s what I’ve learned: the ache is not a weakness. It’s a compass.
If you’re hurting because your art is being sidelined, that means it’s alive. It means you’re alive.

So I write these letters as a way of keeping that fire from going out.
A little light for anyone else trying to build something beautiful in the margins of the 9-to-5.

If you’re in that place right now—burning for something more—I see you.
You’re not behind. You’re not crazy. You’re not alone.
You’re just waking up.

See you next Sunday—
Roman

PS
Some of the deeper work—the behind-the-scenes demos, voice memos, half-finished things I’d never post on social—lives here:
🎥 Patreon (The Glassroom)
Only if it calls you.

PPS - Listen to the music here