Am I a painter because I paint?

Or do I paint because I'm a painter? This little conundrum was spinning around in my head today.

This am it was fresh and cool, I drove a short way to the town of Bou, on the Loire and painted this painting.

In the pm I drove back to St Jean de Bray and there I had a long debate with my self: will I or won't I paint. And in the end, after a lot of agonizing, I decided to settle down and give it a shot. Well. I opened up my box o brushes, and lo, I had forgotten to put my washed brushes back in my kit. That left me with no sables, a few large bristle brushes that I'm not using much, and one "black sable", a large round with a decent point that's a little coarse, but softer than bristle. Was this setback going to tip the scales, even after I had fought hard and won the interim battle? No, I took it as a challenge, and here it is. I'm happy with my effort.

By now I should know the only painting session I've ever regretted is the one I never sat down to do.