“Walk away from anything or anybody that gives you bad vibes. There’s no need to explain yourself there’s no need to feel bad about it This is your life make more space for your peace and your happiness There’s no more room for negativity in your future.”
That bass player who drags the pocket like an anchor? The promoter promising glory but delivering ghosts? Or the voice in your skull whispering you’re one flub from fraud? Walk. No autopsy required—no “but they meant well” autopsy on the green room floor. This kit’s your kingdom; why squat in the rubble? I’ve ghosted more gigs than I’ve grooved through, and each exit carved room for the real rhythm: the unhurried paradiddle in a basement dawn, the band that locks eyes mid-fill like old lovers. Negativity’s a drag beat—it pulls you off the throne, turns persistence into punishment. Make space, brother. Your peace isn’t polite; it’s the pulse that persists. Happiness? That’s the open hi-hat, waiting for your foot to lift. No more room at the inn for the noise. Step off the stool, breathe the quiet, and come back swinging. The beat’s yours now.
Overthinking’s the ultimate buzzkill: turns your throne into a tightrope, every whack a wobble. Loosen the grip—life’s not a minefield; it’s a moonglow march, shadows dancing whether you dodge or dive.