It was a 60-second video that did it.
Tasked with recording a mere one-minute’s worth of tape outlining The Flock’s progress over recent months, I hit crisis mode. The sound on my phone was atrocious. The picture on my laptop worse. The light was out to get me, my voice was letting me down and anxiety was making my hands tremble to a degree normally confined to those drying out.
By conservative estimate, I’d say it was on my eleventy-thousandth take that I eventually hit export, by then close to tears. The real problem, of course, wasn’t the tech. The real problem was me.
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