Week 6: Converted

I think it was in Week 3 that I decided that I love the Artist's Way and that I want to continue with morning pages and Artist Dates after I finish reading the book.

In Week 4 I "happened" to have some existential conversations with friends and family. We talked about our religious upbringing and the all-important "What happens when you die?" question.  I heard myself describing my beliefs and understanding of my existence in the terms that I had read in Deepak Chopra and Julia Cameron. Other people were talking about Heaven and Absolute Nothingness and I was talking about my consciousness being dispersed into the infinitely creative universe.

In Week 5, it struck me that if I want to practice this whatever-it-is every day, if it connects me to the metaphysical plane and explains for me what exists beyond what we see and what happens when we die, that maybe this is a religion, and maybe it's my religion. It just doesn't have a name or any particular organization. Maybe that's OK? But what do I call it? What do I call myself? And will I ever have a community of like-minded people to celebrate with?

In Week 6, I was invited by a friend to go to an event at World Music Nashville where Beth Nielson Chapman was performing, talking and teaching. It was free and they were giving away food and wine and prizes like guitars, why not? She played some really great songs, gave some helpful feedback to the people chosen at random to play for her, and spoke so eloquently about the creative process. It was right in line with everything I had been reading and discovering.

And then she talked about how creativity is God and it confirmed for me all the things I had been thinking. And I realized that I was at church. And I was with like-minded people. It was a Wednesday night retail marketing event and I was holding a plastic cup full of cheap Chardonnay and a chicken quesadilla, but I was surrounded by my people. We are searching for fame and fortune and hit songs, but also for truth and the joy and satisfaction of creating something new and beautiful. And we come together in all sorts of unexpected times and places.

And now I don't think my religion needs to be organized in any kind of obvious way. It's flexible and surprising and doesn't need a power structure or rules about who's in and who's out. I like that I can have a spiritual experience hanging out with friends and playing songs, or walking by myself through the woods, or watching kids or seniors perform their hearts out. But I still want a name for it. "Creativity" doesn't seem right. Better keep looking. Or maybe just live for a while with no name. Seems like a lot of trouble has come from naming religions.

Action before Inspiration

I can't spend too much time writing this blog. Maybe it's my recent trip to Nashville, or Spring, or listening to Deepak Chopra, but my brain is full, and lately I've been turning all my thoughts into songs. For the past two weeks I've been acting like the disciplined songwriter that I want to be. One that goes to work every morning, creating music and pushing through frustration and laziness. I'm not waiting for inspiration or retreats or that illusive day when everything on my to-do list is checked off. I'm just doing it. I'm not sure yet if any of the songs are keepers, but damn it feels good to be making them.

Hate Not

Derek Sivers is a very cool guy with lots of good ideas about all sorts of things. I met him as the creator of the awesome online music store CDBaby. In his blog last week, he asked the question "What do you hate not doing?" as a way to figure out what you really love. You know I love self-help and quizes, so here are a few things I hate not doing. I'm not sure I like the idea of writing a whole blog about hate, but here goes.

I hate not performing.
Not only because I feel terribly off when I do come back to it, but because I miss connecting with people through music. I miss the challenge of choosing the right songs for the situation and hitting the right emotional tone with each performance. I miss working out my lungs and vocal chords and calluses. And I miss the attention. Can't deny that. :)

I hate not writing.
I hate that I let days, weeks, even months go by without cracking open my journal. That's the place where I let it fly without a filter and it really calms me down and gets me focused. I also hate not writing songs. Songwriting is when I take all my crazy ideas and experiences and shape them into a neat little package and summarize all my feelings about something. Sometimes it's closure, sometimes it's a manifesto. Either way, I feel more settled when a song is finished, and excited to get out there and play it for people. I hate not having a new song to share.

I hate not having balance in my social vs. alone time.
Spending says on end with people, even people I love, even when I'm having a great time, leaves me feeling so scattered. I'm very influenced by others' desires and opinions, so I tend to lose center and follow the crowd when I don't get time alone. On the other hand, I hate being alone too much. I get into boring patterns and I do stupid things like watch hours of TV or play video games when I've got too much time alone. I like having other people around me to bring up new ideas, hold me accountable and be a witness, so I won't eat the whole carton of ice cream. Lately I've been having long spates of alone time, followed by intense visits. Whew! I need balance. I'm such a Libra.

I hate staying in the same place for too long.
Even if it's just walking down a different side street. I need new sights and smells and sounds coming at me. I think I travel enough for this not to be much of a problem. :)

I hate not exercising and eating right.
Because when I do, I feel better. When I don't I feel sluggish and guilty. Hate isn't too strong a word for that feeling.

I hate not asking questions.
I'm a curious person and I wonder about a lot of different things. Sometimes I don't like this about myself, because before I have time to really delve into something, I invariably get curious about something new. But I love the beginnings of projects. I love going to a new town and learning it's history, it's local hangouts. Everything is interesting for a little while. And I hate when I'm doing the same old same old over and over again and not exploring some new business idea or region of the country.

Allright, now what did this little exercise teach me? The best lesson is that all the things I hate not doing are things I mostly get to do all the time! That's good. And when I'm not doing them it's usually because I'm being scared or lazy. So the next time I don't want to go for a run or spend an hour on booking or introduce myself to a new friend, I'm going to think "You'll hate it if you don't do this!" Maybe that will get me going.

Now I want to know what you hate not doing. Maybe this is the next "50 things"....

Summer Hibernation?

Many musicians tour all summer and stay home in the winter writing and recording and storing up energy for the next busy Summer, but Summer is when I want to be home. When my garden is growing and producing flowers and food. When I want to cook dinner on the grill and have friends over for the evening or the weekend. When the sun comes up early and stays up til 9pm, so I don't mind sitting in my bright office working at 8am with coffee or 6pm with a Mojito. Summer is when the Berkshires are full of activity and people and events, so I can pedal my bike to the Guthrie Center and hear some folk music or take a picnic to Jacob's Pillow for a dance performance. This is when I get inspired to sit on the porch and practice my banjo or open all the windows and play beginner piano for all the neighborhood to hear. Summer is when I want to spread out an old blanket on the grass (well, clover) in the backyard and read a book. And if I fall asleep and don't wake up until Mr. Ding-a-ling comes by with his truck full of frozen treats, not to worry. That's what summer is for. Any given week in July, 20% of the country on is vacation anyway, so you usually get a break if you don't respond to email right away.

When I complain about winter, the dark, the cold, the stillness, most people tell me to embrace it. They say I should take the opportunity to rest, plan for the warm seasons, write music, read, take up skiing, knit, sleep. And that does sound really nice. I like all those things. But there is something chemical that happens to me, to lots of people, and it just feels sad to stay home. And I start to get a little crazy. I want to go the bed early, like at 7pm. And if I'm not in bed then, I might be whining and crying and generally freaking out. And most of the world is still out there working, so it doesn't really do to completely shut down for 4 months.

Years ago, when I was waiting tables in Maine, I learned that if I kept busy during those early evening hours, life was a lot better. I'd go to work around 4, just as the sun was setting and run around serving mussels and pinot noir until about 10. Before I had a chance to look up, I'd made it through the difficult part of the day and it actually was time to go to bed.

It's really unusual for me to have a whole month of no shows, but I'm right in the middle of that. It is kind of unsettling, I tend to forget who I am and what I do when I'm not performing for so long, but I am enjoying a gorgeous summer. And more importantly, I have the time to completely fill up my Fall and Winter calendar. I want as few off nights as possible in those cold dark months. I want to take trips to Florida, Texas and California and thumb my nose at Winter.

Seasons are nice. I like natural rhythms and all that. It's been such fun watching my garden grow and change, but I just can't do the winter hibernation thing. I'm a disaster in the dark and cold. I've got to keep moving, keep myself under those artificial stage lights, and trick my body into thinking it's the growing season. And then if I need to rest, I'll invest in a hammock for next summer.

Off to search for a list of winter festivals in the South.... I think I'll just do that with a Push-Up.

What is home?

I don't want to lose my Texas self. Already I feel the Northeast creeping in to my psyche. I'm telling myself it's not so cold at 40 degrees. I'm looking forward to snow. I'm thinking puffy coats are kind of cute and tall trees that I once complained blocked the sky are nice and shady. Fireplaces are cozy and hardwood and tall ceilings are a good substitute for concrete floors and open kitchens. Creative vegetarian food everywhere is worth giving up easy access to the best pork ribs I've ever tasted. Wait, I'm not there yet. In fact, I want to go to Luling right now! I know I have to do this to survive and be happy, but it's sad and confusing for my identity.

All these past 6 1/2 years, I've been learning to be a Texan, to use frontage roads, to know good BBQ and to automatically say "Y'all." I think the desert and scruffy juniper are beautiful, and I adore Live Oak trees, with their 200 year old sprawling limbs that stay green all winter. I've lived in Texas more than anywhere else, and I was just starting to feel like I had a home state, not just because of the years spent here, but because I wanted to be here and it made sense with who I am. If I live in Massachusetts, what does that mean? Does it mean I've abandoned my home? Does that mean something else is more important to me than place? That a person, a relationship, a job opportunity actually means more to me than the city or state or region I live in? I guess so, and that is pretty cool, but humbling, too. Because I admit that I have judged people before - country singers from Brooklyn- I've never believed them. Even though their lives may have been more full of rural life and tradition than mine, I have felt that because I lived in Texas, I was a more authentic artist. Who cares if I live in Austin, the fastest-growing, most educated, youngest, transient, artsy, latte-drinking, Prius-driving city in Texas, we still know how to Two-Step, even in the gay bars. Do I lose my legitimacy when I leave, or just my self-righteousness? And is that such a bad thing?

What scared me the most is that I'll lose the ability to call myself a Texan. Even though I've had to qualify it (I was born in Alabama), I realize it has felt good to have an answer when people ask me where I'm from. Even with all the explanations (We moved a lot, my Mom lives in Ohio...), when I said I was from Texas, it was really starting to feel true, emotionally at least. I'm from these big skies and long wide roads. I'm from these friendly people who brand everything with stars and add hot peppers to their cooking and turn on the air conditioning in December. I drink Shiner Bock beer and margaritas, because that's what we drink. We. Us Texans. Will I get to say that anymore? Will I feel that? Will Texas just recede in my identity and be just another place I've lived? Will I start to feel like a Massachusettsian (what are they called?) or a New Englander? or just rootless?

All this capitulating to the cold has reminded me of how adaptable I am. I pick up accents and colloquialisms everywhere I go. I'm open to new foods and have a great sense of direction. Lately, I've been taking comfort in my ability to adapt to new situations, fit in and change. It might be an even bigger part of my identity that my Texan-ness. I enjoy and crave going to new places, and for a while I even took pride in that. It felt cool to say that I'm from all over, I don't need a home. But in Austin, with all these friends, I made one anyway, almost without trying. And maybe I can adapt to a new place and make new friends and learn to love it, but will I make a home again?

It's always been pretty easy for me to move, and I had chalked that up to my adventurous spirit, but I've never really left a home. I've left places I knew I couldn't stay (college) and places I knew I didn't fit in (Portland). Now I'm up to a real challenge.

Massachusetts, please take it easy on me. Just give me a mild February, and I'll compost and honk my horn and eat chowder and even try snow-shoeing.

Austin, leave the light on.