I had a very happy childhood. And when I remember my childhood, I always remember a large part of that happiness in the form of playing video games.
(Of course, video games don’t a happy child make: they’re just what I spent most of my very happy childhood doing. It’s like hearing a song associated with your first kiss: the song has become the happy feelings, even though the song wasn’t the original the reason for them.)
I hope you skim this post. Anything worth reading is worth skimming first.
We all skim things. It’s not a limitation of the writer or their work; it’s a limitation of communication itself.
And if you write something that’s difficult to skim, your communication is worse for it.
I wrote the words to a wonderful bit of music that my friend Brittany Leigh (soon-to-not-be-Bydalek) wrote and performed for the first time this month.
Here’s the synopsis Brittany put together:
Hosea is a twenty-five minute piece, composed with the intent of utilizing the unique features of the Sheldon [Museum of Art, where it was first performed]. The piece explores the opportunities of different visual and acoustic combinations within a single story. The story is based off of an ancient, Biblical text, and re-contextualized in a modern, classical oratorio style.
This was the first time I wrote a choral thing and then it got performed. My experience writing and then seeing it coming to life is a post for another time. Here’s the full text for anyone who’s interested.
I was listening to NPR earlier today and overhead this enlightening interview with jazz composer Wayne Shorter. Just heading home after getting a beer with a friend, I listened to Wayne talk and answer questions:
Something I say is that boredom is just a sign of complacency.
He was talking, of course, about Jazz. People who listen to something new, like free-form jazz (or classical music, or whatever offends the palate–for me, it was actually Top 40 pop music that set off my alarms for a long time), they might be confused or offended, or more likely, just plain bored.
Change the radio station. Find the comfort zone. Don’t be willing to doubt your first reaction.
Embrace your skeptcism and protect it. It keeps you safe and warm and unchallenged, like the ugly threadbare blanket from your childhood. That blanket is cherished and sentimental–sure, but is it really keeping you warm? Or are you just afraid to grow?
Wayne Shorter went on to say ridiculous things during the interview, like talking about how when he played with Miles Davis and his band, they never rehearsed or talked even about music. They just talked to each other. Listening to the way the other person said a phrase was enough to riff off of later: they could hear something in the cadence of the other’s voice that was echoed in their improvisations, if the other musician cared enough to listen really closely.
Jazz isn’t about safety. It’s breaking out of a form, not fitting into one.
That quote was taken from my memory, not from what Wayne’s own mouth. It might not be exactly right. Call it jazz, if you like. Here’s a direct one:
No one really knows how to deal with the unexpected. How do you rehearse the unknown?
For me, the word ‘jazz’ means, ‘I dare you.’
Boredom is just a sign of complacency.
If you are bored at work, bored by your coworkers, bored by your boss–are you just being complacent? Have you given others permission to like you? More importantly, have you given yourself permission to like them? To enjoy the work and push yourself beyond the work’s less compelling exterior to the truly interesting, human bit hidden inside of it? It might be in there. Look for it.
Some of the music I most love I didn’t like the first time I listened to it.
Love at first sight is the happy exception, not the rule.
I didn’t love any of Rufus Wainwright’s albums wholly, not at first. It took me awhile to warm up to Fleet Foxes’s self-titled album. I didn’t understand Sigur Ros’s ( ) well enough the first time through to say much other than “I don’t think I like this. But it’s interesting, in a weird way, maybe.” Thanks goodness for the latter part of that first impression. Listening to Sigur Ros has taught me something new about being a human being, but it didn’t until the 3rd or 4th listen.
The same goes for the other people around you. Everyone has a superhuman ability. The difference is whether their environment has nurtured that superhuman ability or not. If it’s been stomped and tamped down, or if someone has watered that ability with a refreshing draught of encouragement and support.
You can focus on a person’s flaws and all the things they do that are stupid. Many people do. It’s easy to dismiss people. It’s risky and strange and often hard work to find the gem of talent, insight, or worthiness (C.S. Lewis would call it “glory”) that’s enbedded deep in the geode of neglect and self-doubt that encases many people’s talents.
Not being able to see and encourage the best in someone isn’t realism or being a straight shooter or the other person’s fault.
Your boredom with others is complacency.
My boredom with others is complacency.
And while it’s a tragedy that we aren’t there to offer the (literally) transformative word of encouragement and support and belief, it’s a far greater tragedy that we can’t learn something from that person. When you can’t see through the haze of superiority, you’re losing something.
“Every man I meet is my superior in some way, and in that I learn from him.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Not that we should expect to be perfect at appreciating people right away. It takes time and practice to develop a skill, and listening to people and learning from them is a skill. I have a lot of learning ahead of me, and an embarrassing amount of needless boredom behind me.
But it starts with a change of mindset.
If you aren’t willing to do battle with a first reaction when you listen to a weird song, you might not be missing out this time. But if you adopt a mindset of not being willing to listen, you will miss out, eventually. It’s easy to believe all of Katie Perry’s songs are trash. (and some might be–but do you know about the ones that aren’t?) It’s easy to believe Les Miserables is too long a book for you to enjoy. You’re not really “a reader.”
The point is people, music, books, and causes are far too interesting–and matter way too much–to be bored by them.
Mastery comes after practicing (and being uncomfortable).
Boredom is a sign of complacency.
Delight is a sign of engagement.
[Image source: Murphys Law]