SpiralTruth

A friend emailed me a few days ago to give me props on a song I wrote and recorded a while back, jokingly ending the email with, “You jerk.” He’s been playing guitar for a few years and just started recording and performing at open mike nights. I don’t know if anyone really knows how much comments like that help in giving you that often needed kick in the ass to do more. I’ve really enjoyed showing him all the tricks I’ve learned and like to think that I’m able to help someone else get to where they want to go a little bit faster than it’s taken me. But there’s one really important thing about writing and recording and performing that I haven’t told him about. And maybe that’s because I’ve never really admitted it to myself.

Last night, I did.

I was at a Kings of Leon concert with my girlfriend and was in a bit of a sour mood after standing in various lines to secure various necessities before the show: namely over priced beer and food. And it was a really good show from a band that I had initially only sorta liked. I liked it more as I watched the lead singer and rhythm guitarist Anthony Followill struggle with various frustrations over his gear and sound. It sounded fine to the audience, but from the band’s perspective, I guess, things were horrible. I’ve been there. It’s hard to play when things sound like crap on stage, even if everyone assures you it’s all good for the audience. Followill wasn’t struggling with the gear so much as he was struggling with his mood. Here’s a crowd that had been waiting a long time to hear him and his band play, and he realized that, and he realized how lucky he was to have that audience and be able to do what he was doing for a living. But he was having a bad night. Musicians like Axl Rose have made names for themselves by giving into those moods, but Followill was a trooper, all the while apologizing to the crowd for seeming to “have an attitude”.

At the time, I was more concerned with a sudden wave of extreme melancholy over falling short of my own dreams. It took me completely by surprise and didn’t relent until this morning. Maybe, I thought, if I’d just given a little more effort at the right times or been a little quicker at picking up the tricks of the trade or been a little more willing to sacrifice whatever was asked… maybe I could have been up there. And the thing that really bothered me was that I was thinking in the past tense. Where had that dreamer I used to be gone? At some point, idealism had seemed extremely counterproductive in terms of reaching goals. Being practical, setting realistic expectations, being a bit more laid back… they lessened the disappointment of falling short of where I wanted to be in my artistic life. Or maybe they just postponed it. I’m beginning to think that being an idealistic dreamer may actually be the more practical choice in the long run.

What’s funny is that as I was so caught up in this rut, Anthony Followill was fighting almost the same battle. Here I was thinking that his life was so different from mine. And yet, he was struggling to enjoy doing what he loved in front of thousands of cheering fans.

That’s the glory of being genuinely passionate about what you do. Nothing’s ever good enough. You’re never good enough. You haven’t ever gone far enough. And to my friend: welcome to the club. Remember, you asked for it.

I imagine others out there have found a little more balance in their creative lives, and I’d love to hear about what they do to maintain that balance. But I’d also like to hear about those “dark nights of the soul” that I think most creative people have at least once, where they struggle with the disappointment of falling short of where they think they should be. Write in if you’d like to share. I think it helps others to hear these things because most of us do such a good job of hiding them and putting on our happy faces, and that can sometimes make you feel like you’re much more alone in your struggles than you really are.

Because, although right now, it seems like defeat, I know that every other time I’ve felt like this, I’ve at last come out of it with more material than ever. Stronger. Better. And though I fear the day that this stops being the case (somewhat haunted by stories about Hemmingway at the end of his life – how his ability to write started slipping and how that affected him), I don’t really believe it will come. Everyone makes their leaps of faith in life and that’s mine. I feel somewhat cursed by this obsession to create stuff and expect much more from myself than most people think I should. But at the same time, I think that eventually my dreams and my life will collide and I’ll realize that I was always exactly where I needed to be.

So, with that in mind, what’s the best advice I can give to my friend who’s just starting out on this particular creative path that’s so rife with disappointment and frustration?

Enjoy the ride.