So Much For Preparing
Brief thoughts on things that will inevitably go wrong.
I'm staring at a folder on my iPhone and grappling with a mix of emotions. The folder contains nine songs; some I love, some I despise, and some that I know could be better if I worked a little harder.
I've just seen the end of a six-month-long bout of writer's block that felt more like an eon. That time was mostly spent half-awake at home with my wife and our pets, rewatching The Office for the seventh time and reading books about UFOs. (Sidenote: Crash at Corona by Stanton Friedman and Don Berliner is excellent. Read it swiftly.) Initially, it felt as if I'd done nothing song-worthy in those six months, but my compulsion to write and produce was rearing its ugly head again.
I started a fresh creative process, promising myself that, no matter what, I would write one verse per day. I succeeded only for nine days; the task was too lofty, and the real world beckoned me back with various messes to clean up that are too delicate to write about here. Without saying more, I am exhausted—and my ability to create daily has been as well.
All the while, I'd been preparing for my first outdoor set at Norman Music Festival. I was nervous but ready to prove myself, and hopefully gain some new supporters in the process. I'd been given a 50-minute timeslot and had crafted a perfect setlist to fill it. I don't play shows often, so I wanted to make this one count. It was a comprehensive look at my discography, a story created from pieces of every album I've released. I spent weeks making it perfect, rehearsing each song and even what I wanted to say in between them. I hadn't been sleeping well for several reasons, and this show was one of them.
As my wife and I pulled into the Guitar Center parking lot on the day of the show (I was missing a cable that I wouldn't end up needing anyway), the news came via phone call that, due to poor weather conditions, everyone's set times had been reduced and pushed back. I sat in the parking lot deleting files from my SP-404, quickly scrubbing away two-fifths of my setlist to make it all work.
When we reached the stage, we were met by a sound team inundated with quality issues due to rain-soaked equipment. Artist after artist performed over half-audible beats to crowds too noncommittal to stand in the rain and watch them the whole time. We stood on the sidewalk under an awning as I anxiously debated what I'd do if the sound issues weren't fixed when my turn came. I refuse to perform unless the sound is decent at a bare minimum, but I also had sympathy for the organizers of this volunteer-run festival. Did I have a right to mess up their schedule?
Thankfully, the diligent audio team eventually fixed the issue. Later in the evening, I performed to a semi-despondent crowd of about 40 people who'd spent the whole day being rained on. My wife was the only familiar face in the crowd. Nonetheless, I gave the audience my heart, and a select few of them gave me theirs in return. It was disappointing and cathartic all at once. If I could do it all again (and I would!) I'd be a lot less hard on myself beforehand.
I watched a brief video of my performance when we got home. Despite the audio fixes, my day-long anxiety, and my ultimate confidence in the performance, the beats were simply too quiet. I could have made them louder. If only I had known. Oh well, I thought. So much for preparing.
This statement contradicts a lot of my most deeply held beliefs, but I'm not sure that we can will anything to work out. Sometimes the big things we prepare ourselves for, and the promises we make to ourselves about those things, don't work the way we want them to. We often blindly give our everything to our goals, assuming that our ambition and passion will push them toward a positive outcome. Yet, an impossibly long list of variables comes with every choice we make. All that we can control is how much we anticipate them.
Over the coming weeks, I will try to resume my one-verse-per-day challenge. I'm sure that I'll be roadblocked again, but I will gradually learn how to see it coming. It's important that I don't burn myself out only for an outcome that I'm unhappy with. Something special will rise from the ashes of my patience if I let it.
For now, I'm going to share some lyrics from one of the nine songs in the folder I've been staring at over the last few weeks. It's called "The Curse." I'm not sure if I'll ever release it, but in isolation, I love the lyrics.
"The Curse"
One verse a day puts the curse at bay
Premonitions of a hearse we lay in
Praying that my words come out nothing if not terse and brazen
I can't let the earth reclaim me so soon
Consciousness is harrowing
The window of opportunity's narrowing
I spent days clinging to my keratin
The landscape is barren and the whole plan is perished
If it's time to be scared, then we did it too late
It's not the same as how we claim, right?
There's not a hidden code or key to a great life
I kept my brain wide open, and what breached my skull
Whispered to me something never on the grapevine
It said "One verse a day puts the curse at bay."
Premonitions of a hearse we lay in
Praying that my words come out nothing if not terse and brazen
I can't let the dirt reclaim me so soon
If you're creating something, preparing for something, or anticipating a change, do me a favor and go easy on yourself. We are all living for the first time. Nothing will go as planned, but you can always work on being watchful and being kind to yourself if it all goes awry.