getting the guts

on monday night, i needed to go to the market, and since i had no quick food to fix at home beforehand, i decided to eat dinner at a local restaurant. since i haven't had seafood on-island beyond my favorite tuna steak burger (at Sunset Bar & Grille, in Maho), i looked for shrimp on a few restaurant menus, and found the best-looking shrimp entree at Pineapple Pete's (a restaurant where i've already been a handful of times). oh well, so much for adventure. when i arrived, there was a guitarist on stage playing covers. the longer i sat, the more i was awed by his super-smooth playing style and his mastery of the loop pedal to create a very full sound. he seemed very personable, especially when he chuckled at me being the only one clapping after a particularly good song. i didn't have the guts to say anything to him in person, but saw a tip jar and decided to write a short compliment on the back of my business card, and leave my email address. i had no real expectations of him (these things have gone negatively for me, in the past), but i hoped he would respond and help me find the great music scene i knew was hidden somewhere on this island.

imagine my surprise when he actually responded just a half-day later. his email was kind, and he invited me to come back out that night and hear him with the full band. my employer asked me to first attend a school function with her and her son, then go out to dinner with them, and she mentioned Pete's as an option. it seemed like a great transition -- dinner with them, and drinks while listening to the band -- so i decided to drive separately. i didn't know, when i arrived, if i would have the nerve to actually approach him, but i figured at the very least i would enjoy some good music and good rum. i saw him arrive, set up, and head for the bar (which i had JUST left, to sit at a table near the front), and summoned my courage. since i'd first introduced myself via business card, i decided the best way to get his attention (he was on his iPad) was to go sit beside him at the bar and drop my business card in front of him. cutesy, but effective -- he picked it up, looked closely at it, then turned to me with a smile. thus, i received my very first double cheek-kiss greeting and met Amin.

overall, the night was really good for me. we had some casual conversation, and the band did some really fun and masterful covers. Amin had spent the hour leading up to their set trying to convince me to sing a song with them, but would never produce a set list for me to choose one. of course, when the pressure's on, i'm never able to think of any common songs to sing. i know thousands of songs, casually, but if i don't really know the lyrics and vocal pattern well, my slight stage fright will obliterate them from my memory. the only song i could think to propose was "Sunday Morning" (haha, Honey James Band members), which they didn't know. however, bets are on as to whether they'll learn it before next week. it turns out that i do know many of the songs in their repertoire, so who knows. maybe the courage it took for me to put myself out there and compliment/contact someone new will also enable me to hit the stage with a really great st maarten band before i leave this island. at the very least, i feel like i've made some new, talented acquaintances. thank goodness for guts, eh?

have piano, will travel?

since i can’t seem to write clearly about what’s really on my heart (oh boy), i will forge ahead with what’s on my fingertips. tomorrow, i have my first formal music lesson in five years. i didn’t quite tell the whole story of my music evolution in “have guitar, will travel”, so it’s definitely time to fill in a few holes and get self-examining.


my evolution as an artist has been through quite a number of phases and mediums. music and storytelling have always been dual-held interests of mine, though. when i was very young, i would sneak out of bed at night and turn the radio on, putting my ear right to the speaker so i wouldn’t have to turn it up above a whisper. i was always fascinated with putting together the meaning behind the songs. i met a boy (literally, we were nine!) who introduced me to alternative music, and snuck tapes to me under our catholic school desks. as for the storytelling, i delved into poetry and personal journaling as an early teen and, to my shock, was published in a few anthologies. i considered trying to self-publish my poetry, as well as short novel ideas i kept stumbling through, but nothing ever really came of it (though it did spark my interest in an english/creative writing concentration in college). 


musically, beyond being a rabid listener and shower singer, i studied flute from age 11 through 15 (though i originally wanted to play drums!). i begged for a guitar for christmas at age 13, but didn't learn to play it at all until age 15, shortly after i wrote the lyrics and melody to my first simple song. my best friend, at the time, taught me the chords i needed based on the melody i sang. i played my first solo show a short four months later, built almost entirely of my own songs, and kept playing shows through age 23. i realize now that there’s a lot of undescribed space in between ages 15 and 23. these were prolific, busy years, for me. as i said in “have guitar, will travel,” :

“throughout high school, that was my identity, my art. i lived and breathed my music, craved the outlet. i wrote song after song, played shows to tiny packed-out coffeehouses. they were simple songs, simple expressions of the chaos of my teenage life. moving into my early twenties, i made my first relocation. the city had a bigger and better music scene. it was more difficult to break into, and i lost my nerve. instead, i began to enjoy listening to music, attending shows rather than enduring the pressure of playing them. i tried to keep up the practice schedule and writing sessions, but my previous desperate need for it was no longer there.”


unfortunately, that’s not the whole story. there’s a much deeper reason, and it contributed to why i not only stopped playing and writing music, but even stopped attending shows and buying new tunes. in case you haven’t gotten the picture yet, i have pursued none of these arts to the true professional level, or any end, for that matter. so, what’s holding me back? fear, bigger and badder than “lost the nerve” could begin to describe. actually, the fear even kept me from taking in new music, lest i be inspired or challenged, and thus reminded of my failures. it perpetuates. if i want to move forward, and i do, the only thing i can do is to face it, and myself, inside and out. scary and nervous-making, yes. the weight of it is much like the impending doom of a piano dangling over my head, in cartoon-like fashion.


for what mass media requires, i am not skinny enough, pretty enough, compelling or talented enough to sustain a music career. don’t fight me on that, please. i know where i stand, and trust me, i don’t want to BE those things only in order to be considered successful. if i honestly look at my life right now, yes, those are things i want, but for shallow reasons -- to get the boy, to gain the recognition. my heart of hearts knows that i need none of them to accomplish what i want -- the form of expression, the thrill of spilling my heart. it’s complicated even further though, because i’m so terrified of failing at anything i do, that i seem to get paralyzed halfway through doing it. that’s something ingrained in me from childhood. failure was unacceptable for me, even in small ways. trying to break out of what my heart has been conditioned to believe, even though my head knows it’s not true, has been a failure in and of itself.


while the skinny-pretty-compelling-talented line might by true, if i actually get something out of playing shows, spilling my heart (which i do, in an incredible way)... then why let that hold me back? i'm not asking for super-stardom, a record contract, or even paying shows. i just want to express. my heart aches for it, even now. lately, i've been grasping for it in small ways; karaoke at a birthday party, helping a friend lead a group of college kids in song, surrounding myself with musicians and attending shows, finding new music. i've also found myself finally penning lyrics again. sure, i've laid down a line or two in times of complete emotional distress over the past few years, but recently it's been pouring out, so much so that i HAVE to write it into a lyric journal or record a melody into my phone. i haven't formed a whole song yet, by any means, but i have a dozen different places to start.


ultimately, it all comes down to shifting my measure of success and failure. i don’t desire to be a professional musician. i desire to be an artist. i’ve thought hard about it, and my only real goal is this -- be competent enough in all of my art forms to express myself however i currently see fit. yes, i want to get back onstage with my own original material, and play just one completed new song live before the end of the year, but that’s kind of a sub-goal. the most important part is to work on on becoming a better artist, a better person. maybe i won’t meet society’s definition of success when it comes to any of my art, but as long as i’m not actually held back by myself, then it’s not a failure. so, off to my piano lesson -- here's hoping it'll be better under my fingers, than over my head.

several social experiments later

a few nights after my solo movie jaunt, i found out that a great local band was playing at a new bar just down the street from my loft. going to a movie by myself didn't seem that taxing or adventurous. going to a bar alone would be a very different, and ambitious, undertaking. i wavered on the decision until i couldn't think of a truly valid reason not to go. i got lucky -- the first seat i happened upon was an empty single barstool. i had a drink, and chased it with several small ice waters. leaving my scarf and near-empty bag on the chair, i and my wallet lit off for the restroom. when i returned, another water was waiting. the band played mostly covers, and i sat, slowly sipping my second drink. i must have looked a little funny, sitting alone, smiling into my drink as i mouthed the words. when the band finished their set, i left, feeling silly. it wasn't nearly as difficult as i'd made it out to be.

saturday night, i saw the same band again, at a community arts theater. i caught maybe ten minutes of the show, due to leaving work late. in the rush to arrive, i forgot i'd need dinner. i should have known it was coming -- my bravery and logic make a great team. one of my regular haunts would definitely be open late and serving great food. i already seen a movie alone, gone to a bar alone, and attended a show alone. why not visit a favorite restaurant? sitting at the four-top booth, i ordered my dinner and whipped out my netbook. the other patrons chatted happily around me as i skimmed through photos and descriptions of new york apartments only barely in my price range. i tipped as though two people had eaten, and weaved through the crowd of smokers outside, to my waiting car. i thought about the number of blocks from the restaurant to my door, about the number of taxis almost always present outside on weekend nights. it was not so different from a manhattan neighborhood, and yet, a world away.

on sunday afternoon, i received a phone call from my grandmother. i figured, with facebook's axis of influence, that she would hear from someone (in my family) that i was selling my furniture and moving to new york. her voice raised in pitch as she questioned me gently, and i reassured her that i haven't made a decision yet, but that i am considering it. it's difficult for her to let go. it's difficult for me, too. she's getting older, and i hate to think that i'm missing any time with her that i won't be able to make up. then again, she has always been a big proponent of my dreams. she supported me as a poet and a musician, and applauded me when i finally found my heart in childcare. she believes in me, as a photographer, and prays for me daily. most important, she understands that i'm quite a bit different than the rest of my family. i only hope that those differences make me stronger, more able to handle life so far away from so much that i know and love.

just like the movies

my current city, winston-salem, is a city of the arts. along the main drag in downtown, there are many bars and restaurants. there are also galleries, artist's lofts, and an art-house theater that shows lots of independent flicks. since i'd already eaten away at much of this month's plan to list/sell furniture, i decided to make my first visit to a/perture. first, i put feelers out on facebook, to see if anyone wanted to attend a movie with me. my only response was from a friend of a friend, three hours away. i realized that this, in and of itself, is what i can expect to encounter a lot when i move -- friends who only wish they could spend time with me. i decided to do something else that i expect will become normal for me, and go alone. i don't need to wait on the world to catch up, in order to do something i want to do.

if the neighborhood weren't ever-so-slightly unsafe, and the streets weren't hilly enough to leave me out of breath, i would have walked to the theater. if there had been a place to chain it, and if ice weren't on the road from the previous weekend's storm, i would have biked. these things didn't stop me from going out in new york, from walking the streets and stepping in the slush, from braving the bitter north winter winds. they are enough, here, to force me into a car to make a fifteen block trip, pay for parking in a garage, and run (not walk) around the corner to quickly get out of the cold. in new york, i am strong and brave, if a little reckless. in north carolina, i am obviously not.

i am, however, brave enough to go to a movie alone. i purchased a tiny one-person bag of popcorn, paid for my own ticket, and sat by myself. i lost myself in the world of the moving picture, and i enjoyed it. i didn't sit through the credits, as i have so many times with other people, because i dislike sitting through the credits. when the lights came up, i was already out the door, heading back to my car, playing the movie over in my head. i've been to the movies alone very few times in my life. i can count them on one hand, and probably name the movies. the only part i dislike about it is not having anyone with which to discuss the movie after the fact. my sense of accomplishment, of being able to go out alone, was galvanizing. there is always something to do in new york, at almost any hour of the day or night. there is always a way to get there, whether it's bus, subway, taxi, bike, or on foot. i don't anticipate not making any friends, but even if it's slow going, i should be able to appreciate at least this one activity alone.