Sometimes you have to take a deep breath and say to yourself, ‘Lighten up buttercup’.
Life feels so heavy sometimes. But, as I reminded myself as I ran by the Cornish graveyard this morning, slowing to a stroll to check out the dates etched on the stones; you’re only here for such a short period of time. You have to make the most of it. My dad gave me very good advice a few years ago. He was feeling very low; the epitome of rock bottom. He said the only thing that made him feel better was to do literally what his heart truly desired.
He is a professionally trained musician, attending the ‘Guitar Academy’ on full scholarship when he was 18 years old in Hollywood, California. He was offered recording studio jobs galore after his year of training, but he went back to Saskatchewan to be with his family, especially my grandma, who was going through a divorce. He always had his guitars and his music. He met my mom, had a family, opened a business, and played music on the side. I went on tour with his rock band, and his country band, and we were all so proud when we heard him on the radio. I remember dancing my little booty off to classics when his band played at weddings and community events. My dear father had demons to deal with, to say the least, and everything came crashing down in a series of tragic events. It would take him years to feel like his full self again. He was married again, and divorced. He had lost a child. Two of his children were in another country. He had years of trauma and abuse to deal with, as well as alcoholism and the hangover of evangelical Christianity. He was in his fifties, and facing some issues with his third marriage, and he just could not take it anymore. At the age of 50, he picked up his guitar, joined two bands, and has been a full time musician ever since.
I remember learning about career options when I was a teenager. You have the high earning and safe careers, such as doctors, lawyers, and engineers. You just need to get good enough grades to get in, and you’re set for life. But, for anything creative, it takes much more than that. The average salary of a musician stuck in my head from my high school days. The average salary of a musician at the time was $30,000. You need talent, yes, but you also need vulnerability, courage, grit and tenacity. My dad’s family (and consequentially my family) had a lot of personal opinions about a 50 year old giving a career as a musician a go. But, he only had one choice, and that was to answer that call coming deep from his soul.
“Do what makes you happy, honey. Don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
I think it’s the music what really started to heal him, from the tornado of his last twenty years. He has tried other forms of therapy: cognitive-behaviour therapy, exercise, and religion. The only things that really seem to help him are music and marijuana. I couldn’t be prouder of my dad, traveling around the USA with either his R&B or blues band, meeting all sorts of interesting characters along the way. He is penalized for playing the wrong note (literally, they dock it from his pay if he screws up). Spotify does not pay musicians shit. Live gigs are iffy, because you never know what the turn out will be. He spends hours upon hours on the road and in hotel rooms. He’s on tour often; away from his family in Oklahoma. His studio sessions are monotonous, playing the same songs repeatedly until it is just right for the recording. He has had to play in crowded bars in the conspiracy-ridden Deep South, losing dozens of close friends during the pandemic who were duped by anti-vaccine propaganda. He would play and leave, letting the peer and patron remarks (and hopefully COVID) bounce off of him. His music has broken down the race barrier in his life in Oklahoma; one of his bands being primarily African-American, an accidental education in African-American reality.
A few months ago in Victoria (BC), I ended up in a neighbourhood pub, enticed by the sign saying ‘live music every night’. When I went inside, I was greeted with the most pleasing crowd of 45 year olds and older, with long hair, bandanas, wide brimmed hats, and tattoos. It was like looking at a whole bunch of my dad’s friends. The musicians had the same aesthetic. They were seasoned, and obviously with all of that experience they were good. It was a full band, complete with a guitar, saxophone, clarinet, stand-up bass, drums, and fiddle. They played from their heart. Their fans were regulars.
My love languages are physical, words of affirmation, and quality time. Sometimes I find it hard to connect with people, and perhaps with my physical love language, I find it much easier and prolific to connect with people by doing things. I dance with my mom. I play guitar and sing with my dad. My dad and I can transcend all of our hurt and messy past when we play. Sometimes there are connections that words can’t really express, like with my parents.
This year when I was thinking about my New Year’s resolution, my heart said ‘this will be your year of music’. I moved to the UK and my guitar is at home, but I have seen more live music in the past month than I have in a long time (thanks Pandemic). Maybe it’s beyond seeing and playing music, but writing about music, and connecting through music. I have my parents to thank for my love of music; playing, singing, dancing, seeing, appreciating, and listening. I am one of those fortunate souls who experiences frission with music. I may have grown up in a difficult way, but no one can take that away from me, this gift my parents gave me.