I came home and sat down at my desk, mulling over some of the thoughts I've been having this week. The main one that has been plaguing me is this: Who cares?
Sometimes there is a futility about everything in my work. I cleared part of my schedule this year so that I could do what I missed the most last year - practicing. And now that I have three afternoons of the week cleared for it, I often just don't want to do it. I still have a hard time enjoying the creative process that comes with being a performing artist, and haven't felt the desire to identify with it much lately. Without a deadline or a performance, I don't really delight in just doodling around on the guitar or playing for fun. It is work to me, and work is hard.
I thought about this while I was eating an early dinner before four straight hours of teaching. The guy behind the counter recognized me as I ordered my gyro platter, smiled, and said, "Enjoy it" as he handed me my food. But then I saw him take out his smartphone and space out with a vacant expression, and I couldn't help thinking that he was probably feeling the same thing I was. Who cares? Why does what I do matter?
I stumbled upon a Ted talk by Elizabeth Gilbert that has given me a little perspective. A few years ago, I put out an album that was met with great success in my tiny corner of the world. I got gigs from it, did interviews, sold CDs, and essentially put myself out there as a classical guitarist. I have struggled to find my next project since then and struggled even more to feel like I'll ever have anything original to say ever again. I guess this was like my own version of Eat, Pray, Love. And Liz (we're on a first-name basis now) says that you just have to keep doing it, doing that thing you love "more than yourself" (I don't know if this is true for me, but I can understand what she means), regardless of whether it means you will succeed or fail. Because I am wired in a very goal-oriented, accomplish one task at a time sort of way, the nebulousness of the creative life feels antithetical to my very existence.
But after Paul gave me a pep talk the other day, I believe I can change. I believe that if I commit to sitting down on my red stool for two hours a day and practicing, practicing anything really, not only will I prepared for the concerts I have this season, but I will be in a different place artistically and spiritually than I was before I committed to doing this. If I can stop asking the question, What is this for? and start asking the question, Who is this for? - then I believe I will get somewhere.
And it does not matter where. In the end, I believe will always be called back to sitting on my red stool.
