Tag: Reverb 10

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5 minutes

Reverb 10 Prompt (from Patti Digh): Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.

[6:33am, Note to self]

Five minutes! Shit, am I really gonna do this one, in real time and all, right now? I just woke up! My brain is mush! Everyone will know how slow my mind churns, my lack of typing skills… I need to think about this for a bit first, or else I’ll leave some important stuff out. But then I won’t really be doing the prompt, and this one really has to be done right now, in five actual minutes, or else the whole point of the thought experiment will be missed. I need to finish my coffee! Tic toc tic toc… Oh shit, let me think…

Umm…

Shit, all those songs that I learned!

Fuck.

Ummm…

Okay, Glen Hansard! Listen to every album he recorded with The Swell Season and The Frames, and watch every YouTube video you can find of him. It’ll change your perspective on playing music.

And read your blog and journal to catch up on the rest!

Oh yeah, and you have a new nephew!

[6:38am, Links and photo added after onset of amnesia]

Not fair! I am NOT a morning person!

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Appreciate

Reverb 10 Prompt (from Victoria Klein): Appreciate. What’s the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it?

“Man, have I got it good.” I can’t tell you how many times this realization has dawned on me this past year. I’ve always periodically reminded myself (or have been reminded by others) just how fortunate I am to enjoy good health, to have a roof over my head, to have been born to loving parents, and all that jazz. But something has shifted over the course of this year in particular, so that now this sense of appreciation is with me almost every day. I’m not sure what has shifted exactly, but this being Reverb 10 and all, perhaps some reflection is in order…

I’m a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to processing “life,” and it may be that I’ve finally digested a few of the more impressionable experiences from the past couple of years. For instance, there was that year off from work. My wife did her dissertation research (Medical Anthropology) in an impoverished community in Mexico, and I lived there with her for most of that year. I was ready for a break from a fifteen year stretch working some high-stress/low-pay mental health jobs, the last of which was in a psychiatric hospital, where I was confronted daily by the grim reality of battered souls and shattered lives.

If I thought my time in Mexico was going to be some kind of vacation, I was in for a few surprises. The first came when I saw where we were going to be living for the next year — in the midst of poverty the likes of which I had never quite believed existed on God’s Green Earth. Then, only a few weeks after our arrival, I injured myself — quite badly — while playing soccer with some amigos. Fear, pain, and disability would be with me the rest of the way. On a visit home, on my birthday in fact, my father fell ill and nearly died. He pulled through, but continues to endure an ever diminishing quality of life and regular trips to the hospital, any one of which could be his last go-around. In so many ways, these recent experiences tore me wide open, and only recently have I recovered enough — physically, mentally, and spiritually — to notice the enduring changes in perspective.

I’ve got it good. So, so good. This is contrary to the fact that some of my friends and family seem to pity me — me working a temp job with no benefits, wearing the same worn out clothes I bought ten years ago. Me with no cable TV, no retirement plan, no savings, no kids, no religion, no clue what I’m doing next. But me, I feel like a king most days. Again, not in a conceptual “Things could be worse” or “Think about those less fortunate” kind of way. I really feel it in my bones now. I know I’ve got it good.

My wife just bought me an iMac for my 40th birthday, for god’s sake. Not to mention the fact that I have a wife, somebody to love and who loves me. Not only did she buy me an iMac, but she’s also likely to land a sweet job soon and become my 4-evah sugah mama! (Isn’t that right Sweetpea?). I have everything anyone could need and a shameful amount more. I’m also the healthiest horse in the barn. The last time I caught so much as a cold was on that birthday I spent in the hospital with my Dad — in 2008. Knock on wood. (Shit, I can feel a tickle in my throat already.)

How do I express my gratitude for all this? It’s subtle, but I think I’m far more compassionate and generous than I’ve ever been. I’ve shifted my gaze just enough off of my own navel to see the people all around me, people to whom I can offer whatever it is that I have enough of in any given moment. And what’s dawned on me this year, bright as a thousand suns, is that at this point in my life I have enough… of everything. If my luck continues, I still have another half-life to live and to share all that good that I’ve got.

[Note to self: Noticing that I never answer the prompts as written.]

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Action

Reverb 10 Prompt (from Scott Belsky): When it comes to aspirations, its not about ideas. It’s about making ideas happen. What’s your next step?

Ah yes. Action. Where the rubber meets the road. Gittin’ er dun. Walkin’ the talk. Okay, I’ll stop.

Aspirations? Got a lot of ’em, and I’ve been talking some of them up for years. This blog is a testament to the talkie talk. Here I’ve documented the deep insights, made the grand proclamations, and yes, occasionally taken some baby steps. But I should be on the run and half-way home by now with some of these things. No excuses, really. I am where I am because I did what I did. In fact, one of best things I did do this year was to drop the to-do list in favor of the done-did list. I done-did this for about a four month period, and it was quite illuminating. Basically I just wrote down on my calendar at the end of each day what I actually did in support of realizing my aspirations. The results for the first month were shocking. Had you asked me beforehand what I did week in and week out, I would’ve told you in all honesty things like: I exercise at least three times a week; I meditate about every other day; I practice Spanish probably two or three times a week; blog once a week almost like clockwork; pump out a new song at least once a month; and on and on. Turns out I was full of shit. The done-did list doesn’t lie. I set the criteria in advance. An unbroken stretch of thirty minutes was the absolute minimum for any given activity to count. The done-did list didn’t lie, but apparently I did, to myself and to everyone else. I was seriously stunned to discover just how much I over-estimated my productivity. Having the objective data to consult each week created a positive feedback loop, and by month four I was exceeding my productivity goals on all fronts. Anyway, it was a helpful exercise… See how I like to keep talking! On to the next steps:

Aspiration: To make a living doing something I’m truly passionate about.
Next steps: 1) Finish website; 2) Set up coffee meet-ups with people in my area who do the type of work I want to do, even though most of them are women (see #9 on my 11 Things list).

Aspiration: To do proper recordings of all the half-baked song ideas stored on the hundred or so cassette tapes I have boxed up.
Next steps: 1) Finish digitizing cassettes to computer; 2) Develop one idea over the course of each week and record a solid demo by Sunday night. [And 3) Stop coming up with new songs, or else I’ll need several lifetimes to get it all done!]

Aspiration: To complete the several writing projects I’ve started.
Next steps: 1) Set up file system on computer to organize what I’ve got so far; 2) Write outlines for each project; 3) Make set time every week for writing and write something during that time, no matter what!

Aspiration: Don’t get fired from my day job just yet.
Next step: 1) Stop spending half of the work day on Reverb 10!

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Body integration

Reverb 10 Prompt (from Patrick Reynolds): This year, when did you feel the most integrated with your body? Did you have a moment where there wasn’t mind and body, but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present?

Hmmm… Well, the thing is I already covered a lot of this ground when describing my most alive moment. And besides, body-mind integration is like, my thing. I’m like, Mr. Body-Mind Integration. I studied it in graduate school, wrote a master’s thesis and a book chapter about it, read a ton of books on the subject, attended several professional integrative trainings, created a website dedicated to better understanding it, blogged about it incessantly, and I’ve worked toward personally realizing it through a variety of practices for the past fifteen years. So yeah, I got this. Yeah. Got this bull by the horns, yo.

Alright, so the truth is my posture sucks, I spend most of the day in my head engaged in imaginary conversations, I fell down recently and separated my shoulder while running (just fell the fuck down onto the ground, like a toddler), and I write/talk about my body-centered practices more than I actually do them these days. So maybe I’m like, Mr. Wannabe Body-Mind Integration. Yo.

But I did have that “Most Alive Moment of 2010” and a few others when I experienced the integrity of my whole being to a relatively remarkable degree. Many of them were downstairs in my living room, where I might spend five, six, seven hours even, just me and my acoustic guitar (and maybe a couple of beers or glasses of wine), serenading the ceiling. However hard I’ve tried over the years to crack the code, I’ve not yet found a way to make these experiences happen. Sometimes I’ll pick up my guitar, run through a few tunes, then move on to something else, mind and body in their familiar compartments. But every now and again I find myself slipping into the zone, that elusive sweet spot where all sense of effort drops away, my mind opens, my body softens, and the constraints of clock-time give way to the freedom of pure flow. It’s a cliche, I know, but it’s like the music is coming through me, like I’m experiencing the nexus point between the transcendent and immanent aspects of my being.

When I was kid, I experienced this same sense of integration through athletics. All I wanted to do was play sports, all day, everyday. That was when I experienced the greatest sense of freedom, the absence of inner turmoil, a temporary respite from the complications of concepts and personalities. Once the whistle blew, there was no Bob. There was only playing. I just reacted, responded, lost myself in the game. My muscles just moved, my lungs breathed, and my brain made all the necessary calculations, all of their own accord, without “me” having to do anything at all.

My fascination with these types of peak experiences is what inspired me in my early twenties to pack up and move from Upstate New York to San Francisco in search of adventure and self-realization, to spend all those years studying, inquiring, discovering, and experimenting with how best to cultivate this integration, how to open myself as much as possible to the full depths of my humanity. The journey continues, of course, and the more I learn, the more I realize how much I don’t know. But I have learned a few things, and that’s a big reason why I’m working on the Integral Health Resources website — to share those insights with whoever might be interested. I’m also doing it to clarify my thinking, engage in dialogue, and to create some kind of context and structure for my scattered ideas and interests. Some day soon, probably in 2011 (assuming my wife lands an academic position somewhere), it will be time for me to finally step into a meaningful career of my own. I’ve been talking for years about stepping out of the box and doing my own thing, all the while staying in the box with my hundred-and-one excuses and ultimately doing jack.

But that’s another story altogether. I wonder if any of the remaining 19 prompts will force me to dig into that can of worms?

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11 Things

Reverb 10 Prompt (from Sam Davidson): What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?

Okay party people, I won’t try to fake you out with this one. I needed a break from staring at shiny rectangles, and a song descended from the Great Unknown, demanding to be birthed into some form of existence. There are only so many hours in the day, so I’m gonna have to half-ass my response to the prompt. To make up for it, I will perform the song for you (via the trusty iMac I got for my 40th birthday!). As an added bonus, at the end of the song I tagged on a cover of Bad Bone by The Frames, just for the heck of it (which is why it’s such a long video clip). Anyhoo, 11 things I can do without…

1) Triscuits: Especially the Cracked Pepper and Olive Oil kind. I just ate a box for dinner.
2) Self-imposed isolation: Gotta mingle with other humans more often.
3) Playing on the computer after 9pm: Last night I tweeted in my sleep.
4) Watching television: I don’t watch much now, but admittedly I watch crap online all the time, which is pretty much the same thing.
5) The belief that I don’t need any insurance whatsoever: While I very rarely get sick (like, once every few years), I am an old man now, so I probably need one of those rubber-glove-up-the-wazoo exams at some point.
6) The belief that I’m an old man: Seriously, I need to drop that one immediately. I know damn well that I look and feel great for my age, and when I think about it for even a minute I realize with certainty that I’m better in every way now than at any other point in my life. Except maybe when it comes to sports.
7) My resistance to hard work: I prefer to go with the flow, but sometimes you have to bust ass.
8) My crippling fear of rejection: Dude. You’re f-ing 40 years old already! Get over yourself!
9) My avoidance of friendships with women: I’m afraid of what will happen if sexual attraction rears its head (so to speak), which with me is almost unavoidable. Is it possible for such a friendship to be charged and intense, but not lead to anything that could jeopardize my good standing with my wife? I wouldn’t know, because I maintain my distance to such an extreme than any sort of close friendship with another woman is impossible.
10) My belief that people, for the most part, are ignorant, cowardly a-holes who refuse self-awareness at every turn in favor of distraction and empty pursuits: I’ve been working on this one a lot lately. Everyone’s doing the best they can with the cards they’ve been dealt and I am no better than anyone. When I choose to see people as basically good-natured, everybody is much happier.
11) My tendency to wait for good things to happen instead of putting myself on the line to make them happen.

I will work on all of these things by keeping up with my core spiritual practices: Creative expression, authentic relationships, mindfulness meditation, somatics (body-centered stuff), self-reflection and critical inquiry. And singing songs:

Don’t lose your head
Don’t
Don’t focus on the pain
You’ll only make it worse
You’ll drive yourself insane
If I don’t get there first
You’re standing on the edge
Without a parachute
I’ll see you on the ground
Enjoy the ride
[Don’t lose your head]
So
How many have I loved
How many never knew
I kept it to myself
Then gave it all to you
And now that you are gone
There’s nothing left to lose
So I’m back here on the edge
Here goes nothing
[Don’t lose your head]

Bad Bone [Glen Hansard]
There’s a bad bone inside me
All my trouble started there
All the cracks are adding up to be
A little more than you can bear
When I met you, you were bitter still
From a scar you’re never gonna show
And I was cursed with a jealousy
It’s killed every love I’ve ever known
And oh, what’s the point in staying still
When there’s so many places we can go
When the anger that you feel
Turns to poison in you soul
And the cracks you only feel
Start to show
You were waiting on the balcony
And I was sleeping in your bed
You said I pleased you only partially
But I knew my hunger would be fed
And oh, what’s the point in holding out
For a love that only will destroy
When the anger that you feel
Turns to poison in your soul
And the cracks you only feel
Start to show
And oh, all my thoughts of getting clear
And of getting out before my time
Have died with you upon the vine

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Wisdom

Reverb 10 Prompt (from Susannah Conway): What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out?

They say insanity is expecting a new result from the same old choices. If this is true, then I’m not sure if my big decisions this year were wise or simply breaks from the madness. Further muddying the waters, the two more important decisions I made this year seem to offer contradictory pearls of wisdom: “Don’t focus so much on yourself, asshole!” and “Focus more on yourself, asshole!”

The only consensus is that I’m an asshole, but I didn’t achieve that status through a decision making process per se.

I love my wife, and she loves me. Still, 2009 was a tough year, as was 2008 and 2007. My wife is an anthropologist and she cares a lot about the plight of disadvantaged people. Her education and work have taken her places far away, for long stretches of time. I miss her when she’s not around and sometimes I feel neglected and sorry for myself. By the beginning of 2010, it had been three years since we lived together and shared in each other’s day to day lives, aside from a few brief stretches. Sometimes, for weeks at a time even, we couldn’t even communicate via email or telephone. When we finally did come together, my pent up, unexpressed emotional glop would eventually erupt, and rarely in a productive fashion. It was all “Poor Bob.”

Despite the best of intentions, in 2010 my hopes of domestic bliss dawning at long last were dashed once again by the cruel vagaries of destiny. The familiar feelings brewed, bubbled, and rose up to the brim of the blowhole, but one of my better angels made a decision to change course. Instead of focusing on the holy trinity of me, myself and I, I resolved to pour every ounce of available energy into supporting my wife. After all, she was struggling too. She was overwhelmed by the demands of finishing a Ph.D. and moving into a new phase of her life. I decided to suck it up for another year, quit my belly-aching, and simply be the most loving and supportive husband I could possibly be. And 2010 has been a far, far better year. As individuals and as a couple we’re in a much better place — whether or not we’re in the same geographical location most of the time. Last night, as it happened, my wife fell asleep right here in my arms, and I gotta tell ya, it was pretty freakin’ sweet. She also stole all the covers and caused me to freeze my ass off, but that’s another issue altogether…

So, it seems reasonable to conclude that the fortune cookie should read, “Drop self-absorption. Focus on compassion.” But if wisdom follows a set of rules, I sure as hell can’t figure out what they are.

In June I decided to hang up my bass guitar and no longer be in a band with my best friend Eric. From the day I saw Eric playing Radiohead covers on Franklin Street a dozen years ago, I knew he was someone special. He was all soul, and my admiration for him and his uncompromising pursuit of his dreams has only grown over time. He dropped a very lucrative career and years of training in electrical engineering so that he could play his guitar on Franklin Street with the full force of his spirit. He’s been putting it all on the line ever since, and has inspired me to do the same.

For years I would tell people (and myself) the story of how I turned down a full scholarship to a doctoral psychology program in Pittsburgh so that I could move into an old house with Eric and start a rock band. Deception tends to be insidious, especially self deception. True, I made a dramatic, eleventh-hour decision to ditch graduate school in favor of moving in with Eric and a few other musicians. True, I resolved to dedicate myself to realizing my creative potential. Funny though, how I had forgotten the fact that I was one of the two guys living in the “Rock n’ Roll House” who wasn’t in Eric’s band. I wasn’t sure what I was doing exactly, but the idea was to dive into my writing projects and maybe, as a side-project, also improve my guitar playing and songwriting skills. But music for me was strictly for my own enjoyment. The thought of performing made me want to poop my pants (still does). It was only after the original bass player “didn’t work out” that I joined the band. As time went on I discovered that it was far easier to ride Eric’s coattails than to face the onslaught of doubts and fears that assailed me as I struggled to develop my own creative powers. It was true Eric and I shared a common aspiration — to put everything on the line in pursuit of creative self-realization — but somewhere along the line I started pretending that we shared the specific dream of being in a successful rock band, when deep down I knew I was only avoiding my own creative ambitions (however poorly I could articulate them). And despite realizing all this on several occasions, despite leaving Eric’s band in 2003, moving away and pursuing my own path for several years, as fate would have it I would find myself back in town in 2010, Eric in need of a bass player, and myself in need of inspiration, direction and companionship.

And so, even though I told Eric from the beginning that I was only stepping in temporarily, to help him get his new band and new record off the ground, I found myself getting lost again, funneling just enough time and energy into the band so that I would have nothing left with which to face my own demons. Sometimes it’s easier to warm yourself by another person’s fire than to go out and chop your own wood, to blister every finger trying to create a spark, to sit alone lashed by the cold winds of failure and self-doubt. Eric will always have my love and active support, but in June I made the decision to bundle up, grab my ax, and head back into the thick of that dark, frightening, unfamiliar territory: My own destiny.

How is that decision playing out? It’s too soon to say for sure. It’s cold and lonely out here trying to figure all this shit out. Just this past weekend I found out that the new bass player, the one who replaced me, “didn’t work out.” There’s that open door again, the one I keep returning to, and I know it’s warm in there, beside the bright fire of a man who knows what his dream is and who fights every day to make it real.

Me, most of the time I can’t even figure out when to focus on myself and when to focus on others. They say wisdom is about knowing the difference between when to grab the reins and when to let go. If this is true, maybe my best decisions this year weren’t wise at all. Maybe they were just lucky guesses. Or maybe things haven’t played all the way out yet. Maybe, like a boomerang, these issues will come back around and split my head open when I least expect it. Maybe nothing’s ever decided and done with, but rather we must choose again and again in each moment, sometimes turning inward, other times reaching out.

Maybe I’m just an asshole.

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Party

Reverb 10 Prompt (from Shauna Reid): What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.

“You gotta fight! For your right! To Paaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrr…”

Yes, I did see the Beastie Boys in concert in the mid-80s and yes, they did end the show with that song and yes, a 20-foot inflatable penis was used as a stage prop. Any more questions? I was fifteen or sixteen at the time, so what could be more hilarious than a giant inflatable phallus? And Public Enemy was the opening act, although admittedly I had no idea who they were at the time. Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh yeah—parties.

2010 began with bang in January with my band’s CD Release Show at the Local 506 in Chapel Hill. As it happened, a major snowstorm crippled the entire area the day of the show. The guitarist/singer for one of the opening bands lived out in the boonies and he couldn’t even get out of his driveway. The show had been hyped in the local media for weeks, and we had expected several taste-makers and influential people from the local music scene to attend. But it took a miracle (in the form of our drummer’s brother’s four-wheel drive truck) to even get ourselves to the 506, which was one of the only places in town that didn’t close down for the night. Because it was just about the only game in town, we ended up with a pretty nice crowd of jolly wayfarers. Several of our closest friends had come in from out of state to be there, including Chris, the band’s former lead guitarist, whose awesome playing was all over the new record. None of us knew he was flying in from Denver to attend the show. He just strolled through the doors as we were about to go on stage. We had a blast, and it was by far the most fun I have ever had performing (Unfortunately, most times I’m uncomfortably nervous or in a deer-in-the-headlights kind of daze).

Another gathering that deserves mention was the recent Rally to Restore Sanity in DC. Here’s how that day went:

9:30am: Arrived at the West Falls Church Metro station, hours before the start of the rally, which was scheduled to begin at noon on the National Mall (a mere twenty-five minute train ride from West Falls Church).

9:30am – 2:00pm: Waited to get on the train at the West Falls Church Station, as people by the tens of thousands clogged the entire metro system.

2:00pm – 2:30pm: Finally got aboard the Sane Train headed for the mall. Watched a few snippets of the rally on a fellow passenger’s iPhone. Bladder now the size of a regulation NFL football.

2:45pm: Set foot on the mall. Made it! Penned in with about a quarter-million humans. Vaguely heard Jon Stewart’s voice off in the distance.

3:00pm: End of the rally.

5:00pm: Finally found a restroom in which I could relieve my bladder, now the size of a watermelon. Made it!

11:00pm: Home after driving back to North Carolina. Watched rally highlights online.

Sounds like quite a party, huh? It was totally worth it though. Listening to Jon Stewart’s speech (at home, on my laptop), when he got all choked up and said, “…your presence was what I wanted…” – that was priceless. The renewed faith in humanity: Priceless.

Resolution for 2011: More shenanigans!

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Beautifully Different

Reverb 10 Prompt (from Karen Walrond): Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.

I’m going to make and end run around this one. I’ve finally come to grips with the fact that I’m not different, not special, and not deserving of the credit for the vast majority of my better qualities and accomplishments. Karen’s reflection is a worthy one, but when I think “Beautifully Different,” my mind goes right to my little brother, and I’d like it to stay there a while longer. Saturday marked the six year anniversary of his death. I hadn’t thought about it until last night, as I was trying to settle into sleep.

As a ten year old, I was thrilled at the prospect of a little brother. I already had an older one, who teased and beat me up a lot, as well as a little sister, whom I teased and beat up a lot. A little brother would be a chance to form a new alliance, to be looked upon as a hero, worshiped like a God. Six months after Jimmy was born, he had a frightening reaction immediately following a vaccination injection. He screamed and cried and then went into a seizure. That morning, before the trip to the doctor’s office, he was developing quite normally, rolling around on the floor and playing with his Fisher-Price key ring. Twenty-five years later, the day before he passed away, he was still rolling around on the floor, playing with his Fisher-Price key ring. And pooping his diapers. And being fed and bathed by Mommy and Daddy. And not walking or talking or even looking people in the eyes. He was different for sure. Essentially, he never developed, cognitively, beyond six months. As you can imagine, it was quite a challenge for our family — especially my parents — to come to grips with. And yet, despite the hardships involved, this kid was like a little Buddha. We all loved him “more than tongue can tell,” as my Irish Grandmother used to say.

It’s hard for me to describe the bond I felt with Jimmy. He didn’t exactly return my affection. He didn’t like to cuddle, or be held at all really, and only occasionally would he flash me a smile. In fact, most of the time he wouldn’t react or respond to anything I said or did. And yet… I have never loved anyone, nor can I imagine ever loving anyone, the way I loved that kid. He never once rejected me or did me an ounce of harm. He was absolutely and perfectly innocent. I could love him fully and unconditionally, without issues or reactions or judgments or any obstructions whatsoever. What a gift!

Yeah, Jimmy was different. He most definitely didn’t turn out like we’d expected. But his life (and death) brought the rest of us closer together. I absolutely adored that kid, my little Buddha Bear, and he was beautiful. Beautiful. I kissed those cheeks a million times in those twenty-five years. You are missed little brother…

Bob and Jimmy, June 1983
Bob and Jimmy, June 1983
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Community

Reverb 10 Prompt (from Cali Harris): Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

Shit. This is kind of a sore spot with me. I have never experienced a sense of community that didn’t slip away before I had time to truly appreciate it, and 2010 has been a particularly lonely year. I know most of this is on me. I’m an introvert. Always have been. And although at this point in my life I think I’ve transcended most of the limiting aspects of this disposition, I still tend to spend most of my time within the cozy confines of my own little world. It’s not such a bad place, really. But there are still many times when I want to come out of my shell and connect with others, and these are the times when I feel the sore spot most acutely. When I finally come outside to play, everyone has gone home already. I guess. I’m not so sure about any of this. I may be an introvert, but I also give a lot of myself to those I do connect with. I might suck at small talk, but I’m right at home in the depths of intimacy. I know how to love. I guess. I’ve let so very few into my inner sanctum. Or is it that so few have let me into theirs?

This year, despite the best laid plans, my wife has spent most of her time in other cities, states, and even countries. This all but forced me out my shell, and I did reach out for contact in a few ways. I attended two intensive training courses at Duke Integrative Medicine: Mindfulness Training for Professionals and Integrative Health Coaching (Okay, technically I did this one in 2009). Both of these trainings concluded with everyone sitting around in a big circle, sharing reflections. And both times I gushed on and on about how wonderful it was to experience the sense of community we established. But, as has been the case throughout my life in these types of situations, the warm-and-fuzzies didn’t last long after we all went our separate ways. At this point, I’m not in touch with a single person from either training. I also played in a rock band for the first half of this year, hooking back into the local music scene here in Chapel Hill after being away for several years. I felt out of place from the start though, as if I had traveled back in time and was laying low so as not to impact the future in some unexpected way. I guess. That didn’t even make sense to me. And of course, I blogged, and facebooked, and tweeted, and otherwise made many earnest attempts to establish personal connections online, including this here Reverb 10 deal.

2011 promises to be a major opportunity for me to finally get this community thing right. As of this moment, my wife has interviews set up for academic positions in Oregon, Maine and New Mexico. Several other applications are floating around all over the country. We could end up anywhere, but in any event it’s looking pretty likely we’ll be heading somewhere new by the time fall rolls around again. I’m trying to learn from my past failures. Really, I am. I know now that the warm-and-fuzzies of new connections will eventually fade, and that it requires effort and commitment to establish lasting bonds. I know now that although risking rejection might make me very uncomfortable, and experiencing rejection does indeed suck big-time, there’s no real intimacy without a willingness to be vulnerable. And I know now that when I really put myself out there, put my heart and soul into a relationship or my blog or a song or whatever, it might not inspire the kind of response I’m hoping for. In fact, it might not inspire any response. But community isn’t just about what I can get from others. Perhaps it’s more about what I can offer others. Maybe that’s the point I’ve been missing all along.

So I think for 2011, I’ll keep my focus there, on offering the very best of myself to every engagement. If that doesn’t work, then at least I’ll know for sure what I’ve suspected all along: It’s everyone else’s fault! ;0)

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Make

Reverb 10 Prompt (from Gretchen Rubin): What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?

The last thing I made was a song/video called Weary Hearts. It was back in September, and I used several of my toys to bring it to life. My toys are all on or around my green desk, the desk my wife made for me (as in built, with tools and stuff!) about ten years ago. We weren’t married at the time, but after she surprised me with the desk I started hearing wedding bells off in the distance. I mean, come on, she built me a desk! Anyway, my toys are my acoustic guitar, my eight-track recorder, my Mac, and an assortment of other instruments and doodads (tambourine, bass guitar, electric guitar, effects pedals, drum machine). For this project, I started by digging up a recording I made with a hand-held voice recorder while I was living in Mexico a few years ago. It was just a sketch of a song idea. All I had was a chord progression and a melody, so I quickly came up with some lyrics and then knocked out the guitar and vocal tracks in one or two takes. It sounded a bit empty, so I added some tambourine. I mixed the tracks, then dumped them onto my Mac for some quick editing. But the tune still sounded a little listless, so I threw in some drum loops from the GarageBand program. This gave the song a little more snap, but it didn’t feel quite there yet. I remembered a recording I had of Henry Miller reading from his book Black Spring (one of my all-time faves). At the end of the chapter “Third or Fourth Day of Spring”, Miller mentions Mexico during one of his poetic flurries. I liked the way Miller’s raspy Brooklynese meshed with the tune, so I pasted it into the mix. Finally, since I had Mexico on my mind, I put together a little slideshow of photos from my wife’s and my time there, used the song as a soundtrack, and uploaded the result to YouTube.

I have damn near a hundred song idea cassette tapes full of hours upon hours of material, and I’d love to make many, many more finished songs in the coming years. In fact, I intended to make another recording this past weekend, but got wrapped up in other engagements (like Reverb 10!). It takes me only about three or four hours to knock out a recording, but I typically only clear the time to do it once every couple of months. I also want to make a book, write several journal articles, blog regularly, and create a new business, so clearing the time for everything will be a challenge.

Go Beth, go catch your breath
Just slow things down a little bit
One day you’re gonna be okay
Just watch your worries float away
Like whispers on a breeze
Messages on stormy seas
Like memories of a dream
Nothing’s ever what it seems
Rest your weary heart

Wake up, my little sleepy head
You don’t wanna spend all day in bed
Get dressed, take a walk with me
We’ll watch the leaves fall from the trees
Like young hearts into love
A shooting star from high above
A tree onto the ground
And we’ll be there to hear the sound
And rest our weary hearts