Decidedly Earnest
One of my defining traits is my sensitivity. It has been that way for as long as I can remember. I don’t go to pieces over things —I actually think I’m fairly stoic externally— but I internalize everything in an extreme sort of way, constantly assessing every tiny piece of information as a microcosm of a larger truth (re: this new song is bad, therefore I am a bad songwriter).
Though negative feedback has the capacity to do the longer-term damage, a tiny shred of positive feedback can bring my negative feelings to a full-stop. Such reactions make me a rule follower. Not because I can’t think for myself, or because I always agree with rules, but because I crave the sort of the validation I receive from bosses, teachers, and mentors that come from following those rules. I want people to be happy with me. Admittedly, this isn’t in line with the traditional rebellious spirit that is supposed to define musical paths. But whatever.
The quirk this creates is that I often remove myself from scenarios where there are rules to follow in the first place, placing me in a paradoxical universe where I want to follow rules so much that I seek a world without them —a world where I can’t objectively fail, where I don’t have to manufacture anxiety to follow those rules. If there are fewer rules that need following, I am able to freely operate in a way that feels most genuine to me. It’s not particularly surprising that I write books and songs, where form can constantly be massaged, little is objectively true, and I can mostly do whatever I want. Of course, this also means I have a low tolerance for people telling me I’m doing it wrong.
While a percentage of that defiance might stem from strength, I think another percentage —possibly a larger one— stems from an inability to weather criticism while remaining committed to the cause. When someone tells me I’m not good enough, I don’t dig in my heels, declare “I’ll show you!” and proceed to work even harder. Instead, I decide the environment isn’t a healthy one and promptly leave with a figurative middle finger, placing distance between myself and the party that discouraged me. That’s why in job interviews I always say how important a supportive environment is to my potential success, because the reality is that I will quickly abandon my post if I don’t feel supported. I don’t tell employers that last part.
Music and songwriting offer a different variation of this challenge. Though I have had my share of negative criticism over the years, the biggest wrench has been trying to navigate not the negative, but the apathetic, which is far more prevalent. Most people just ignore you. The particular challenge for those of us —raises hand enthusiastically— who endlessly analyze is that we are prone to a lot of negative self-talk. And guess what apathy becomes when left to a negative inner voice? Negativity. No reaction may as well be a negative one.
Lesser Tragedies was reviewed back in 2013 by a blogger and was described as being “decidedly earnest.” While I was thrilled that the record was reviewed —that basically never happens in my world— I struggled with that classification. It has the undertone of “there is slightly more to like on this record than there is to dislike.” Though I guess I’ll take that as a win —sometimes you win by one point, sometimes by 20— but as the only public review of the album, it felt like a disproportionate representation of what everyone thought about it. Ultimately, I guess I believed it was better than that.
These experiences (and many others) have led to a tightening of the noose around my creative ventures, attempting to insulate them from that criticism that I fear will blow the whole deal. The reality is that I haven’t played live in four years, and not regularly played live for eight. Too much discouragement, too much frustration, too few gains for far too much work. Music is more fun, more safe without those things.
It’s easy to see the shortsightedness of such an approach, but it’s equally easy to see the logic and value behind it. If a world of discouragement has the capacity to shut down the whole operation, then it does seem smart to think about doing it in a way so as to insulate from that outcome. I envy those who have the ability to make lemonade from that particular brand of discouragement lemons, but if left up to me, I just throw those lemons in the trash.
This journal is a careful, unsure step back into the maelstrom, to gently move out of the shadows my music and writing have existed in for the last half-decade or so. It is an attempt to recognize that even through all of the criticisms and discouragements, a desire to connect and share still remains, and that the work I, and you, do is rarely satisfied by merely existing. The best way I know how to connect such threads is to put everything in an arena where failure, hypocrisy, occasional irrationality, and imperfection aren’t just present, but are expected, and perhaps even demanded.
The places I get it wrong are as crucial as the places I get it right. Owning up to that creates space for such things, while helping protect the enterprise from total annihilation. The imperfections are allowed to become an integral part of the existence. Now, if someone says, “Hey, you’re doing it wrong,” I can respond with a confident, “Yep, I know.”
Anything to keep the game going. And as long as it keeps going, it has the chance to matter a bit further on up the road.