The Architecture of Balance / Connection-Disconnection

Being human, thankfully, means that imperfection is built into the equation. We change, forget, assert, guess and demand, but through it all we just kind of cruise along and call it life. For some time now my wacky universe has been out of whack and when it was recently called to my attention that my reactions to things, as well as my decisions when dealing with them, have been unexpected, it finally dawned on me that my own humanity was making an appearance... as well as reminding me that it's time for a change.

In the past I've written that learning for me is a slow process that really means relearning continually. I've also scrawled a bit about my own personal Camelot, that glorious window in my life of calm and contentment. It was the one time I actually felt sane.

So how does this all intersect and is it worth writing about again as well as sitting through for you, the reader? Per usual, I'm just improvising at the keyboard and you're the one who'll have to decide if what's here is drivel, dross or a murky fog concealing actual insight.

As a boy I was painfully -- or gloriously -- unaware of labels or the boxes into which people like to put other people. Being raised around art and hearing from the earliest that those who made art were geniuses and world changers meant that I assumed I was not one of them. Instead I simply did what I did, even when it was deemed odd or went against what most took for my own grain. I was a powerfully emotional little guy whose strong instincts were always being challenged by teachers and the other authority figures in my life who all chanted the same chorus: you're intelligent, so why aren't you letting reason guide you?

But no matter how many times I gave the same answer nobody took it to heart: reason doesn't work for me.

I was taught that people generally do the right thing and that being female meant possessing a specific weakness that required protecting girls and women. But the short history of my time on earth showed me again and again these things weren't true. People most often worked in their own interest and femininity equates (not past tense) with strength. Those world leaders who worked for peace, which to me seemed one of the highest goals, were made fun of and mocked. Artists and musicians were described as fringe dwellers, yet those people who described them this way lauded art and could not go a day without listening to music.

Thus while I was confused anyway, what I was being taught and shown did not make things in any way clearer. So is it any real surprise that I was middle aged before anything like clarity found its way into my paradigm?

So I didn't think it strange that I loved writing, making music, playing sports or spending hours in nature. These things all spoke to something at my core. But with each year those around me told me two things simultaneously and with increasing vehemence: 'you need to focus on your path, but don't change who you are for anyone.'

Huh?!?

It was a strange event that helped to form the man I am now. When I was in college I studied with a published poet, someone whose writing I enjoyed and whose observations inspired me. She asked me to meet her and talk about my writing. When I arrived she was cheerful and encouraging, but she quickly shocked me. "You're a good writer," she said, "but you could be much better. I asked about you and people told me that you play music. Seriously. That you're considering majoring in it. I'd like to tell you that as long as you're serving two masters, you'll never be great at either art. As someone who's read what you've written, I want you to consider writing."

I could not have been more surprised if she had leaned across her desk and punched me in the head.

This had never occurred to me. I enjoyed both pursuits and never thought myself particularly talented in either regard. Music came from an emotional place and writing from a cerebral one. Her statement was well intentioned but jarring. She may as well have told me, "Look, you can have romantic love or agape. Why would you want both? Do you think they coexist?"

I didn't say it, but I was indignant. This came on a a Friday afternoon and -- pardon the pun -- I stewed all weekend.

Then a curious thing happened: I had one of those decisions that makes no sense to me. I had been making music (trying, anyway) for most of my life. I had not gotten serious about writing until I was probably 10 or 11 years old. It may have felt like it, but the reality was that neither of these durations was a great span.

So for a year, I would only do one art or the other. If at the end of that period, I could not live without the other, I'd reevaluate.

Since music had been a part of things for me longer and that it made me feel better, I opted to forego writing. No poetry, no fiction, no essays... nothing but assignments and what was required to function in society.

It was a wildly productive year. Without the split in my brain between where I felt these two parts lived in me being at odds, I made great strides as a musician and specifically as a bassist. A friend told me about something he'd seen on TV, a new type of music school. I immediately contacted The Musicians Institute for literature (ironic!), and weeks later I decided to apply.

Not only was I accepted, but it led to one of the most intense years of my young life. I was constantly working on my technique, playing in bands and recording. Learning while teaching and performing, without the distraction of any other pursuits freed me dive aggressively in and take chances I never had.

But then at the end of that year, something else curious happened. I hit a saturation point. So much had lodged itself in my brain and under my fingers that I just had no desire to play. I needed to decompress and process, not necessarily in that order. At 23 I needed a break from the arts.

For three years to the day, I worked in retail. I took the stage a handful of times in that period, but I didn't teach and I doubt I wrote three tunes. Of course this too led to another crossroads because trying to live like everyone around me didn't work. I'd denied myself the emotional outlet of music and the intellectual release of writing. Trying to be 'normal' was a complete fallacy. What I didn't see and couldn't articulate was that we are all simply different, but much of what we feel is the same. We don't deal with things the same way, but we're told that there is one. I'm still waiting for someone to tell me what that is. Dozens of people have told me their solutions but none of them seems to realize that they're different from everyone they address.

So yeah, balance comes for me in fits and starts. And I am out of balance. I forget that balance needs to be tested. Things have to be shaken up. I have to relearn.

For six years I wrote for a music magazine and people told me more and more than I'm a writer. I finally hit a point where I had nothing to offer in my own column, but I'd started working on the book by then. In fact, I've been working on it for almost three years now. When I gave notice at the magazine and dove into my own world building project, there was an initial feeling of relief, as if I'd taken a bunch of pressure off myself. Maybe I had. Pages and pages flowed freely and before I knew it the cabin was littered with reams of writing, covered in research materials and there were paths on the floor from the front door to the kitchen and the bathroom, with a little trail leading to my bed.

When someone pointed out the aforementioned curious reactions and decisions I was making, a few things dawned on me. Slowly. First, a big wave of bass related hate mail crashed over me at almost exactly the same time I decided to resign at the magazine. Second, I really hadn't been making music in any significant way since I'd injured my arm a few years back. I'd worked to get it back into shape, but if and when I picked up my instruments, it was more noodling that creating.

Again, out of balance. Again, slow learning. Relearning.

So all that brings me full circle. It's time to forge a new equilibrium. No matter what else may be true, I'm an artist. There is no way I'll gain enough objectivity to see whether I have what I consider talent, but it's moot. I have these different facets and expressing them makes me feel good. As I'm human and imperfect, I'll no doubt continue stumbling along my way, but that's fine. What's emotional and instinctive lives side by side with what's intellectual and rational. Of course they're at odds. Of course I feel crazy.

But I've had balance and perspective. I've been healthy and had contentment. There was a window where I lived without want. It is absolutely possible to form a new kind of balance. It's just as possible I'll lose it again.

That's just fine. Whatever I am, whatever I'm not, I'm just this guy. Like Howard the Duck, trapped in a world I never made. But for all the hostility and harshness, this is not a bad world. There's beauty all around me. Not just in the grand vistas and great art, but in the small momentary, day to day ways. Little things can be glories. A look or a word might just be perfect in a certain moment.

If you don't see me here or on mainstream social media, I'm working on navigating more smoothly. I'm teaching myself to see a bigger picture and making peace with my place in it. Time to forgive myself for being human and letting go of a lot that's keeping me from enjoying it.

Does this mean I'm going to have Buddha-like equanimity and mythic enlightenment? Probably not in this short lifetime. But it means I hope for good, both within me and in my ability to put that into the world. Will I squelch the snark in me? Doubtful. Will I purge cynicism and sarcasm from my humor? HAH!! But I can be my own enemy a little less, and I can let love both in and out more.

At the very least, I can hope.