The problem is that you and your goddaughters are on different ends of the political spectrum, and you don't seem to have a lick of respect for them or their choices. Which is fine, except if they are as intelligent as you say, they might already be aware of your disapproval, and then you can kiss all open communication ta-ta.

"Is it possible for Ivy-educated people...?" Give me a break. It's possible for Ivy-educated people to start a homicidal crusade in Iraq for the sole purpose of stroking their boners. So why wouldn't one buy - excuse me - lease a Hummer?

It is possible for people who love and respect each other to have honest dialogue from different points of view. But YOU are going to have to become aware of and eshew your snide asides (living rent-free on your mother's property; "their" garage; heavily mortgaged McMansion; your sister's hosting big deal holidays, etc.). If you can lay off the judgmentalism, intellectual superciliousness, and moral superiority, you stand a chance of being able to express yourself in a way that they can hear you, and perhaps even feel safe chewing the fat with you in turn. Until then, you might want to work a little harder on that meditation gig you so smugly mentioned.

I am truly amazed at how many people think that an elderly woman writing her own will is not capable of knowing precisely what she is doing. Grandma left to her grandsons exactly what she wanted to leave: she'd known them all their lives, knew that at least one was a "struggling artist" who hadn't yet settled down, and probably knew about his problems with his partner(s) as well. Grandmothers aren't idiots or fools in their dotage just because they're old enough to die. If she had wanted her grandsons to have total control over all the money she had left, she could have and would have arranged that.

But she did not. Speaking as a person who written my will, and as a woman, I can understand why she might prefer to leave at least some bequest to someone she was fond of, and not leave it all to grandsons about whom she might long have had mixed feelings. I have relatives who have expectations that will be disappointed when I die. I know when and how I'm being played, and by whom, and why, and I would still rather leave my money where it could do the most good, and to those people of whom I am most fond. Accordingly, my lawyer divided my estate precisely as I asked, and not according to the presumptions of those who are left behind.

With all due respect to Schneider's other theses, not everyone has a strong unique voice nor is everyone born a creative genius, any more than everyone is born an Olympian or a mathematician. Content and merit are independent variables.

Cary's answer is an insult to almost every artist on the planet. According to Cary's criteria, a dog or a leaky faucet is an artist. He is wrong: there is a difference between a garbage truck and Stomp. His assertion that you can be an artist with no talent, no training, no years of honing craft and skills, no sacrifices, no hard choices, no long nights, no busted relationships, no cold showers, no cans of beans and endless ramen, no mothers begging you to please, please for God's sake get a real job you're killing your father, no jockeying for grinding little grants before soulless jurists, no watching your peers leading comfortable lives in less savage parts of town and even building up home equity instead of temping for rent money, no dragging from one venue to another losing hope that someone, anyone, will eventually understand what you're trying to convey. No long hours in free clinics, no dental school extractions, or not being able to afford even the generic medications to help rectify decades of marginal living, poor nutrition, unavoidable drafts, high blood pressure, smoke-filled rooms, too much temptation and not enough loving care.

Cary has found an outlet where he can make noise, but not everyone with so little to offer will have the same blind luck. His paean to form without substance is a perfect example of autopoiesis: "Look how lovely are my can and Fender!"

Obviously talent is not a prerequisite for self-expression. Nor, sadly, for success. It might, however, be a precondition for self-respect, as well as the respect of others. If you want to know how to get to Carnegie Hall: practice, practice, practice.