Why Don't We Just Start? (Revisited)

Reflection on Joy

Unitarian Society of Santa Barbara

September 30, 2012

(includes "re-purposed" 

stories from earlier blog posts)

When I was in college I wanted a pair of low heeled red pumps. With a limited budget, I began haunting the Macy's sales racks, just waiting for the perfect pair of shoes to go on sale. I became obsessed with finding these pumps, certain that my life would be magically transformed and filled with happiness and fulfillment once I found them. Like Dorothy's ruby slippers, these pumps would take me wherever I wanted to go.

I developed a rich fantasy life around these shoes. I would meet the perfect boyfriend who would accompany me to art museums and cafes. I would find an amazing job with hip coworkers who would join me at coffee bars and happy hours. My clothes would be perfect, and I would never have another bad hair day ever again. My red pumps would lead me down the yellow brick road to happily ever after. I was so convinced of the power of these mythical shoes that my roommate Laura began referring to them as the “life perfecting red pumps.”

And then one afternoon I found them: A pair of size 8 Nine West, low heeled red leather pumps, on sale at Macy's. My heart soared as I handed my check to the sales clerk. No, I don't need a bag. I'll wear them home. I walked on air back to my dorm room, and my feet WERE beautiful in those red pumps. But alas, as time moved forward, my life was not magically transformed.

This is a silly story, but those red pumps became a metaphor for me. I began to see that I was a person who waited for people or things to come along and fill me up. I tended to believe that joy was outside of me, something that other people (or things) had the power to grant me. When I met the perfect man, I'd be happy. When I found the right job, life would be good. If only I had better hair or the right clothes, THEN everything would fall into place. I wasn't able to take even the first step toward finding joy until someone came along and put ruby slippers on my feet. But, of course, ruby slippers are only found in Oz. And wizards and princes only exist in fairy tales. Where, then, was joy found?

***

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to sing. When I was in high school I would come home after school and stand in front of a mirror with a hairbrush microphone singing along with Carole King's Tapestry album over and over again. I had every nuance of every song down. At night, when I went to brush my teeth, I would stand in front of the bathroom mirror imagining myself on the Merv Griffin show. Remember Merv? Well, Merv would ask me questions about my amazing talent and my meteoric rise to fame. And I would dole out brilliant and witty answers like candy. Merv loved me. The audience adored me. Why let reality muck up this perfect fantasy?

The truth is for years I mostly sang in the privacy of my bedroom. Painfully shy and terrified of failure and public humiliation, I chose to keep the dream of singing largely in the realm of fantasy. At times I even thought it was a cruel joke that I was born with the ability to sing, but not with the personality of a performer. (I am no Ken Ryals!) There were years I managed to convince myself that singing wasn't even really all that important to me. I sang along with records and in the car. I sang at a few friends' weddings and in choirs where I could hide amongst a herd of altos. But mostly I kept the longing to sing safely tucked away where it couldn't be tarnished by reality. Someday, I thought, someone will come along and lead me out of my shell.

When my son Miles was in preschool at Starr King, a group of parents came up with the idea of having a fund raising benefit at SoHO. A handful of parents with musical talent were invited to perform. My renditions of “Little Red Caboose” and “The Wheels On the Bus” were well known from leading circle time at the preschool, so I was invited to perform, along with my friends Mari and Jeff. I started to panic immediately.

In fact, for two months every time I even thought about that impending SoHO gig, my blood froze and my heart raced. For two months a low level anxiety was the background music of my day to day life. Except when we rehearsed. Every time Mari, Jeff and I got together to rehearse, something else happened, something that felt just the teensiest bit like joy. I loved harmonizing with Mari. I loved hearing Jeff come up with the perfect guitar arrangement for a song. I discovered just how much I loved sharing music with them, and it was a comfort knowing I would not be up there on that stage all alone.

The day of the SoHO benefit finally arrived. I was the poster child for anxiety disorders all day long. I couldn't eat. I couldn't concentrate on work. My breathing was shallow and my heart raced. I couldn't believe I had volunteered for this torture. How was this joyful? During the sound check I felt like a fraud. What the heck was I doing on stage at SoHO for a sound check? That's what real musicians do. When the sound tech asked if I was getting enough sound in my monitor, I had no idea what he was talking about. Any minute now someone would surely realize that I had no business being there and kick me out.

Finally we walked up on stage to perform. My heart was pounding, but I was also relieved that the months of anticipation were over. We started to sing and I relaxed a little. By the time we were into the second song, I was hooked. I was doing something I loved with people I loved. And the audience responded with applause and supportive cheers. I was actually enjoying myself. I was “in joy,” experiencing joy from the inside out, right then and there, fully present for it. When our set was over, I wanted to do it all again.

I learned something from that SoHO experience. Sometimes the path to joy is rocky and a little scary, especially if it is a path toward a long held dream. But I don't long for ruby slippers for the journey anymore. I prefer to walk barefoot, my feet touching the ground, feeling the sweet wet grass and the occasional sharpness of a rock on my sole. And I am no longer waiting for other people or things to bring me joy. Instead I am looking, really looking, both inward and outside of myself at what is already there. I have gifts to share and amazing people in my life. I have had all the ingredients I need for joy all along. But it's up to me to create it.

There will never be a perfect time to follow a dream. I continue to face obstacles to singing, some self imposed, some beyond my control. But I figure I have a choice. I can use those obstacles as an excuse. Or I can sing as much as I'm able to right now and wring all the joy I can from the experience.

Beloved educator and children's musician, Tom Hunter, begins one of his recordings by musing, "How to begin?" After a moment of guitar noodling as he tries to craft the perfect introduction to the song, he says to his fellow musicians, "Why don't we just start?”

Audio version:
http://www.ussb.org/mp3s/2012/20120930reflectioncbregante.mp3