Dust motes dancing
I have ears.
chronicle, giraffe, momentum, dumpster, and loop.
A little blonde-haired girl.
We were sitting on the patio of St. Arbuck's--that would be my beloved and me--enjoying a morning that, thus far, had been about as easy as convincing someone to accept a free trip to Hawaii.
Eddie wanted me to pass on his appreciation to all of you who commented on his blog post the other day.
I think you may have created a monster, though.
Now he's talking about doing his own blog.
If that happens, there's no stopping him.
Let's just say that he isn't as, well, restrained as I am and will say whatever he bloody well likes about any subject.
Me? I'm too concerned with whether people like me. :-)
Oh, and by the way, to those who had doubts, Eddie Washington is as real as I am.
On a completely separate subject...
I heard this on the radio yesterday:
REPORTER: We're getting a report of a dead body found in the trunk of a car off of______road. Police spoksperson says that death may have been due to foul play.
Uh, gee...you think?
RG...out!
So I was in San Diego over the weekend, as has been my custom for the past fourteen months.
It’s windy outside today.
It’s windy EVERY day in Las Vegas of late.
As a result, St. Arbuck’s is full of people who would normally be sitting outside on the patio enjoying our brief stretch of “good” weather before the heat returns in May.
I found a seat, but just barely.
After getting settled in my mind started wandering down a familiar trail, one that I’ve been spending a lot of time exploring over the past week or so.
The late Harry Chapin spun a classic tale in his song, “Mr. Tanner.”
It was the story of a laundryman from Dayton, Ohio who was known for singing as he went about his daily task. Over a period of time friends, neighbors and customers began to suggest that he should consider leaving the cleaning business and use his gift instead.
But of Mr. Tanner’s response Chapin wrote:
“But music was his life, it was not his livelihood; And it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good; And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul; He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole.”
The story goes on to recount how following incessant pressure from his friends, Mr. Tanner took a trip to New York where a concert agent had agreed to have him sing, a trip that took most of his savings.
Even though the attendance was poor, the music critics were in attendance and following his performance their commentary was less than kind: “Mr. Martin Tanner, Baritone, of Dayton, Ohio made his Town Hall debut last night. He came well prepared, but unfortunately his presentation was not up to contemporary professional standards. His voice lacks the range of tonal color necessary to make it consistently interesting. Full time consideration of another endeavor might be in order.”
The song concludes with his return to Dayton where in response to many questions by his friends he said nothing but returned to his work...and never sang again.
“Excepting very late at night when the shop was dark and closed. He sang softly to himself as he sorted through the clothes. Music was his life, it was not his livelihood, and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good. And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul. He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole.”
I believe it was Wm. Shakespeare who said, “This above all else, to thine own self be true.” And while it may seem “good” to pursue a career to which one may seem obligated because of a natural gifting; toward which one is pushed by friends and family, it is not necessarily the “best.”
There are times when being “true” to oneself requires the setting aside of gifting in favor of what the heart compels. Like Mr. Tanner, I have known many individuals who, in response to constant prodding by friends and family, have pursued a gift-based career only to wind up miserable and unfulfilled because it was not their dream.
What happens when someone else is given the power to define you? You will be formed into whatever they need you to be instead of being allowed to grow into your destiny.
Elaine knows a lot about this topic.
“I’ll never forget the day my mother—that would be my mother the Doctor—sat me down and had her ‘career’ talk with me. She said that the world had changed and women didn’t have to be satisfied with staying home and changing dirty diapers, cooking, cleaning, and basically being a slave to their husbands. She said that I could do anything I wanted to do. And I’m sure she thought she meant it. But in her world doing anything I wanted to do really meant doing what she wanted me to do. And she made no attempt to hide the fact that she wanted me to be a doctor, just like her. It was her big dream for my life.
“The only problem was that I had a dream of my own. I dreamed of being a stay-at-home mom whose only responsibility was to nurture and care for her children. Over time that dream got buried under layers and layers of my mother’s expectations and I had no idea how to even begin the process of uncovering and reclaiming. But like any treasure, this was worth seeking and, like any treasure, whether you find it or not depends on your willingness to take that first step.
“I’m in my last year of residency at a large, metropolitan hospital. You see, my mother’s will is quite strong. Did I mention that I’m about one month away from delivering my first baby? When I told her that I was dropping out of the program she said, ‘But think of all the lives who will suffer without your care.’ I told her that only one life was my responsibility and that I plan to give him the best I have to give, because that’s my dream. In time she’ll understand.”
What’s the point?
Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.
I have seen countless lives ruined by people allowing themselves to be defined by someone else’s need, someone else’s purpose!
You are meant to follow your destiny and not be led, shoved or otherwise intimidated into anything else.
And even though it may seem good at the time, hold out for the best.
RG...out!
American Idol.
on The Tears Of Things Forgotten