So this girl here (me) loves a good story. Really, as long as it involves us humans and how we interact with the world around us, I’m a happy camper. Stories connect us all across various cultures, across vast distances, and even through long past or distant future time. A good story helps us take away logic and reason and operate on a more primitive and connective level, because lets face it, life isn’t logical. Life is messy and sad and joyful and full of sorrow and pain and triumph. It picks us up and sometimes slams us on our head. Sometimes it feels like we are on a roller coaster and we just want to get off, but this is one ride we can’t get off of. Relating, connecting the dots, weaving a tale, all help us find a way to enjoy the roller coaster ride, or at the very least… tolerate it. We see others, and those that have gone through something similar ( or we think of our own past experiences), and we think…ok, I can take another day. Someone else understands.
But, all this love for a story has yet to make me a true storyteller. Don’t get me wrong…I have a lot in my head, but somehow it just doesn’t translate into something great on the page. I’ve got loads to say. A little about my favorite tango dancers, Chicho and Juana…. a friend in the tango community, my thoughts on why I think creativity is as important in art and dance as anything, but let’s be honest. I’ve been in a funk. How do I share these things? I’ve started and stopped about 10 blogs over the last 9 months. I’ve written others completely, only to languish in my files. All of 4 have seen the light of day in that time. What’s ok to say? Am I revealing too much? Is my underbelly showing? Is my subjects underbelly showing? Will someone be mad or hurt? Is the subject matter appropriate for this blog? Does anyone care? What the fuck? It’s my blog! Who cares? These questions keep everything safely locked away, and…completely inexcessible. A storyteller lays everything out for all to see. The soft underbelly is there for everyone to take a stab at if they want.
Ira Glass once said, in the beginning, he was a good enough storyteller to know that he sucked. He just had to keep sucking until he got something good. Do I dare to dream that I know I suck? Maybe I’m there. It gives me hope at least.
I admire those with a poetic heart. I believe the great poets of our time are mostly musicians. Maybe it’s the singer in me. Well, it almost definitely is the singer in me. But that aside, it goes without saying that Jeff Tweedy is one of the great poets today. He’s like Woody Guthrie and Bob Dillon, but not… If you listen, he will get under your skin in a way that you just can’t explain. And yes, his underbelly shows! When asked, he said, you get a group of musicians in the studio, and you have to make a bunch of crap. A load of crap. Then, after a while… you’ll find something good. So, there is a thread of consistency here. My descriptive words, suck and crap might be mine….I can’t completely remember who said which words. But you see, their thought process is the same. You have to struggle and work and fail before you can have something worthwhile.
Yeah…I’ve been listening today. Ruminating. Thinking. Daydreaming. Hoping in a way that only a daydreamer would. Silly to some, but hopefully connecting to someONE.
Anyway, what’s all this nonsense about? Just to say…I’m still thinking. I know I suck, and that’s ok. Maybe it’s even good. I still have things to say about dance and music and passion. I’m still here. I haven’t forgotten. Now I need to practice. You can love what I say or hate what I say or most likely… be totally indifferent to it. And of course I don’t want to be cliché, but life is beautiful. Even if it almost never makes sense. Underneath all the crap, there is something special. But, we have to dig for it and work for it. And if we share a thought, good or bad, we might just make it through.
So, now I dig.