Over Christmas and afterwards, I read a couple of really interesting books. I’ve found myself coming back to them often to re-read passages.
Both the books, Heather Havrilesky’s What If This Were Enough? and Kurt Andersen’s book, Fantasyland: How America Went Haywire, keep delivering returns on reading time invested in each. What both drive home is that this period of time in America isn’t necessarily unique—at least in Andersen’s narrative—about how America’s need to indulge in fantasy and thinking untethered from science and intellectual rigor dates back to our founding and prior to that. 500 years, really (which is part of the book’s subtitle).
Havrilesky’s book is essay-driven, and while similar in terms of demanding something from readers like Andersen’s does, focuses more on the personal—as in, in a world where excess is the norm—how do we find that place of “happiness” that’s not plugged directly into the capitalist mindset of “things” and “devices.” Both offer more than enough to mull over and I’m sure I will be for months to come.
Then, there’s the constant reminder during my part-time work life of a society that’s been conditioned to constantly bleat the equivalent of “gimme, gimme, gimme,” in the context of healthcare and wellness. It’s all enough to throw one into an existential crisis.
I’m not immune to dissonance. Then there is the path I’ve been given to trod the past three years. Fortunately, music has become a place where I can step away from some of the white noise and static that Havrilesky delves into throughout here essays.
Much like I learned when I worked at Moscow Mutual in the early “Aughts” and fancied being a writer, there’s no easy button when it comes to tackling a craft. While some say the guitar is “easy to learn,” it’s a tough instrument to master. And once you’ve learned a few cowboy chords and can put them together in some progressions, you start wanting to do something more—at least that’s been my experience.
Similar to what I know about mastering writing as a writer, that period from when you take your initial tentative steps to when something positive comes back to you in terms of validation can be lonely. More often than not with new writers and I’m guessing with guitar players finding their way forward, this is when it’s all-too-easy to pack it in. Actually, in the past with my guitar that’s exactly what I did. My guitar went back in the case, stuck in the corner, and the case accumulated a layer of dust.
Out at the open mic.
What’s different now? I don’t really know. I think for me, knowing that I was out of options when I got back to playing guitar 18 months ago, there’s some concern (fear?) of what happens if I ever put it away again. I felt something akin to that with writing until I realized that I’d reached a place with writing that I won’t “unlearn” my craft. I’m not there with my guitar-playing and I don’t know if I’ll ever reach that land.
Before Christmas, I drove to Sanford, plugged my Danelectro into my Vox amp and played three songs at an open mic. Things went remarkably well. I thought it would only get easier. Mastering your craft flips that script on its head. Americans want easy: clicking on links, pushing buttons, having others absorb their pain or worse, deadening their pain through things like opioids and other surrogates.
After weeks of wood-shedding in the basement, I knew it was time to climb the stairs and go out into the larger world of music. Off to my local open mic this time, in Old Orchard Beach, at Jimmy the Greek’s Restaurant.
I’ve been weeks scoping out opportunities within driving distance. I’m not sure why I put off an open mic that was four miles from my house. Possibly it has something to do with Wednesday night always being a night that I seem to lack energy.
Last week, rock’s resident contrarian, Neil Young penned a jeremiad masked as a letter to the “short-fingered vulgarian” in the White House. I’m not sure why, but like has happened before, I felt compelled to write another song, this one rooted in Neil’s letter and concerns about our president.
“National Disgrace,” my new song has been on my mind across my waking hours. First it was the case of having three or four verses, but lacking a chorus I was happy with. My guitar teacher helped with that one last Thursday. Once I had the chorus, I began reworking elements of the song and then, on Sunday, I knew I had what I’d set out to do. A song that I liked across all the elements of songsmithing.
I thought I’d play it last night. I came home from work and spent three hours practicing my four or five songs. Then, I got up on stage and realized I wasn’t ready to play the new one and got a bit panicky. Fortunately, my cover of Sparklehorse’s “Sad and Beautiful World” is one song I know very well. The other songs were not sure things and I kind of scrambled a bit up on stage for only the second time. I missed a few chord changes and forgot some lyrics. But I got through my set.
No matter how many times I’ve stood in front of an audience and delivered a talk on Moxie, workforce development, publishing, or local baseball in Maine, those were all very different than being along on stage with a microphone staring at you, and a guitar in your hand.
This is a new experience. One that will continue to be fraught with speed bumps as I make my way along the learning curve. I’m paraphrasing Seth Godin here in describing this as the “succeed, fail, fail, succeed, fail, fail, succeed…” stage of relearning, which is what success could be compared to.
What I do know is that it was all-too-easy to come home and feel sorry for myself last night. Instead, I chalked the experience up as a necessary step forward on my path toward goals I’ve set for myself as a guitar-slinger and musician.
I’m grateful to the welcoming gang at Jimmy the Greeks, especially Paul Conner, the open mic host, along with the cast of mainly regulars who were all really inspiring to watch and learn from. All of them offered something encouraging, which isn’t the norm in all settings involving learning by experience. I’ll definitely be back.
Which takes me back to where I started with this post, mentioning Andersen and Havrilesky. Americans are entitled. We have become lazy and unwilling to accept adversity, pain, and as a result, society has become increasing dysfunctional across all its elements.
I’m not sure, but taking on things that involve struggle, self-assessment, and in my case, literal callouses from playing regularly (a necessity, btw) are how we remain human in the ways that Havrilesky considers various dilemma’s in her writing. In one of her essays, she writes:
“It’s hard to live in the moment, to exist locally and think locally and emote locally. Something in my pocket is always buzzing. People far away except quick answers to every passing question. Why do we live this way?”
One thing playing my guitar allows me: I get to “live in the moment” in a way that technology won’t. I’m also grateful for last night’s lesson that I still have a long way to go in mastering my latest attempt at a new craft.