Taking Everything Slow

“Why do we always lose our childlike faith/ the moment we attain our childhood dream?” A song about aging, moving west, failure that heals and progress that kills. And some other stuff I’m not sure about . . .

 

 

Take this song and shove it if you want to

Take this tune and turn it out of doors

These words are just a caffeinated frenzy

Scribbled on the napkin of your soul

 

I used to be a ballerina poet

Dancing through a rainbow-colored world

Now I dig for water in the desert

Jump for joy each time the thunder rolls

 

Oooh, I’m taking everything slow.

Oooh, how slow, how low can I go?

 

I rode out west to chase the infinite sunset

To swallow ghost towns whole inside my heart

To lose my old religion in the canyons

But morning always catches up with me

 

Oooh, I’m taking everything slow.

Oooh, how slow, how low can I go?

 

Hold that thought close to your unblinking mind

Watch how it withers right there on the vine

 

They’re taking applications for a mystery

They’re ticking off a transcendental(bucket)(l)ist

With wrecking balls and shopping malls to heal us

And freeways to escape our burned-out past

 

Remember when you couldn’t wait to grow up

To live your life exactly as you pleased?

Why do we always lose our childlike faith

The moment we attain our childhood dream?

 

Oooh, I’m taking everything slow.

Oooh, how slow, how low can I go?

 

Other People’s Work

Read any good books lately (besides your own)?

Frederick Buechner said, “the place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” It is exhilarating to discover this place and then get to work in it, pay or no pay, day job or not, published book or engaging tweet.

But without a healthy sense of self, a grown-up level of security in our personhood, we creative-types* can begin to identify ourselves with our work. We become the work we make. And then, instead of celebrating the good work that other people do in our same field or genre, we start to compare our work (ourselves) with theirs, become annoyed and critical, and sometimes just stop listening to, looking at, or reading other people’s work altogether.

Nobody can tell it, write it, sing it, film it, or whatever your thing is – like you can. But you are one voice among hundreds or thousands, maybe even millions, depending on your particular medium – and each of those voices is also unique. Some of those creators are better at using their voices than others, some are still working to find their own voice at all. You are in there too, somewhere on that continuum.

There will always be people who make better work than you do. “Better” is wildly subjective and depends on all sorts of things like budget, public opinion, connections, aesthetic, age, experience . . .

But as I’ve listened to and learned from creators I consider to be “better,” I’ve seen a common thread. These are people who pay attention to other people’s work. Musicians who rave about other musicians, poets who immerse themselves in other people’s poetry, filmmakers who go into great detail describing how other people’s films have inspired them. And they tend to seek out work they consider better than their own.

That takes a healthy sense of self, a realistic perspective on one’s own work and calling. It’s humbling to remember that other people picked up guitars and made up songs before I could tie my shoes – that I was not the one to discover music. Sounds crazy-obvious and astonishingly arrogant when I say it like that, but these are the sorts of unvoiced exaggerations self-delusion sneaks into our minds if we don’t acquaint those minds with the voices and work of other people (I know, because I’ve been there).

And so, I think that one significant mark of maturity in a creative life is when you can be moved, inspired, and challenged by the work of another (especially a peer, someone living and working in your field, even in your particular circle of influence), without feeling threatened, jealous, hyper-critical, or compelled to copy.

I’m not saying that these feelings shouldn’t surface as we interact with other people’s work. In fact, they almost certainly will and should as we mature, but if we recognize them for what they are and continue to create in spite of them, they will prove to be very helpful teachers and teach themselves right out of a job.

So hit the library and grab a book of poems, subscribe to somebody else’s blog, go out and hear another singer/songwriter at your local coffee shop, go to somebody else’s gallery opening. And feel your mind broaden, and say a little word of thanks for all the brilliant voices in the world.

* In this post I’m writing specifically from my perspective as someone who tries to create on a regular basis, but these ideas could probably apply in other fields of work as well, and I’d be interested to hear your thoughts on that.

Wherever You Go

. . . and now for a bloggy nod to Valentine’s Day. Here’s a song I recorded for a friend on the occasion of her wedding two years ago. She wrote the words and I wrote the music.

Furthermore, here’s a whole album called Love Songs for Everyone that I don’t think I’ve mentioned on this blog before. There’s a lot of love in this little post.

Thank you to everyone who reads and comments here. I really do love and appreciate you!

Your Eponine

Let’s declare today St. Eponine’s Day. The day before St. Valentine’s Day should be the day to remember our unrequited loves and the currently unrequited lovers who won’t have an easy time of it tomorrow. Eponine (the tragic character from Les Miserables) will be our patron saint of heartbreak. And not just the romantic kind – there are many kinds of lost-dream grief, as anyone over thirty can attest. This is a song I wrote for all of it.

Lyrics:
You see without seeing, know me without knowing me
Kiss without catching my fever of love
You hear but don’t listen, touch me but don’t feel me
Spin me around on this cold dance floor
You are my everything
I am your Eponine.

She has two eyes, but they’re only eyes
And you’ve seen other eyes before
What’s in those two eyes that you’ve never seen
In all of the moments you’ve looked into mine?
She is your everything
I’m just your Eponine.

I’m lost but you have just been found
I’m blinded by the truth
You so clearly see away from me.

Desire betrays me, destiny mocks me
The stars of my dreamworld all fade in her light
I know I’m defeated, I give, I surrender
But where to retreat when my homeland’s forsaken me?
You were my everything
I’m still your Eponine.