scally (noun): (derogatory) a mischievous, artist-type storyteller with little or no education, who may be suspected of having committed a crime

I find myself constantly questioning if I am doing the right thing. 

Is my music not only okay to release, but is it good? Is the decision to become a musician a smart one? Or is it simply because it is something I want to try? It does bring me joy, and yet displaces me from my comfort zone to level of exciting anxiety that I haven't experienced before. I see why people quit so early on passion projects. It is simply too easy to give up on a dream, which is why, I think, I decided to stop dreaming for so many years. 

The name Scally started as a spin on a familiar name, but it quickly became something much more. Every time I would do a quick search on the definition of Scally, I would see a description that always began like this: 

"Scally (noun): (derogatory)"

The synonyms always included rascal, deviant, mischievous person, troublemaker, rebel, scoundrel, etc. 

I found that none of these words described me. None of them were an accurate depiction of who I was as a person, an artist, a brother, a lover, a friend, or a coworker. 

But the times we live in are strange, especially if you come from a background of comfort, peace, and sustainability as a result of following a set of rules. I never knew if I fully agreed with those rules, or if I was allowed to, but I never really stopped following them. My decision to go into music, into artistry, became an act of defiance itself. The fact that Scally even exists as a musical artist, tapping into queer personality traits, questioning the ways in which he grew up, mindsets I set upon myself, and creating music that speaks of that transition itself - the loss of friendships, the creation of new ones, the complications of existing family, and nuances of my future ones. 

If anyone were to accuse me of NOT being a Scally, wouldn't that make me...a liar? A rebel? A paradox? Thus making me...a Scally?

My life feels like a paradox most days, caught between two sides of a line I never really wanted to fully cross, out of fear that I may never be able to cross back. I have since found that I can cross back and forth, which only creates a more troublesome mindset for me, with loving arms reaching from either side. 

Both sides offer such love, comfort, and peace. One is desired, the other is familiar.

What if that gray area is the point?