The man who invited me is someone I met ten years ago, when I was volunteering for the same organization. He was playing guitar and singing at the shelter back then and has continued to provide music as his form of service. He recognized me on the subway and asked if I'd like to take his place for a few weeks when he goes on vacation. For the next few Fridays he'll still be in town, so I can come and join him as he plays, thus learning the ropes.
At first, I said yes without hesitation.
And then, when I started thinking about it, the concerns began to creep in.
If I volunteered at the shelter by serving coffee and lasagna, I wouldn't be allowing myself to be known as fully as I would if I sang my songs. I wouldn't be opening myself up in the same way. Even if I sang cover tunes (Which ones do I know? "You've Got a Friend", "Early Morning Rain", "Homeward Bound"...) I'd be more visible and noticeable than I would be in other volunteer roles.
I'd be inviting more of a connection.
Of course, when I'm on the subway, I invite that connection as well, erecting no barriers between myself and any person, no matter what their social status or circumstance. Someone asked me once if I've noticed any demographic trends among people who make donations. Are people more likely to donate if they're of a certain age or race?
I told my friend that I hadn't been able to spot any trends so far. I certainly haven't been able to keep any sort of accurate tally of who gives what. But I have noticed that, as a group, people who appear to be the most down-and-out are often very willing to connect with me, either by catching my eye, talking, or taking change out of their own pockets.
I remembered the physically and mentally-challenged man who very deliberately gave me a dollar at Osgoode station. I recalled a more recent encounter, at Dundas, with a man who said as he donated, "I don't know why I'm doing this" because he was on his way to street level with his hat and harmonica.
Anyone who, for whatever reason, is living outside the boundaries of what's considered "normal" by the majority of people--the nine-to-five job, the house and kids--is more likely to identify with the subway musician. Certainly, people who themselves are "living outside the box" do not seem afraid of me or at all disturbed by my presence: they don't seem threatened the way some well-dressed, conservative-looking people appear to be.
Then too, there have been people who have assumed that I myself am homeless, despite many visible clues to the contrary: the stylish new coat, the spiffy Roland amplifier, the Taylor guitar. In the 15 seconds it takes to pass by, some people have overlooked these clues and have observed only that I am asking for money. One woman, you'll recall, donated food.
All things can change. Life circumstances can change. Jobs can be lost, relationships can end. Health can decline. Options can vanish.
"There but for the grace of God go I."
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It's my empathy for--and kinship with--the street community that makes me want to say "yes" and sing at the homeless shelter.
It's my awareness that I'm a young, petite, attractive woman, given to openness and empathy, that makes me say no. That, and my growing awareness of how my music can affect people.
Remembering my experience with the unbalanced man at Queen's Park, who became wild-eyed and agitated when he heard me sing, I realize that by singing for--singing to--some people who are desperately in need of comfort, I would be putting myself at risk. Simply by singing, I'd be creating an emotional connection that would be unsupportable and potentially dangerous. By singing for several hours over a period of weeks--instead of for a few fleeting seconds in a subway tunnel--I'd also be allowing myself to be very carefully observed. (Oddly enough, I don't think I'd feel as nervous about singing in a prison, and I'd be perfectly delighted to sing at a 12-Step group.)
As nourishing as I know my music would be, I can't run the risk.
2 comments:
Hi Lynn,
I think you are right to be careful. It is sad that we have to think about these things, but we must.
Music has a way of touching people more immediately, and often in a more deeply emotional way than other forms of art -- at least, for most. I think it is good that as a performer you take certain safety measures, in the same way that all women check the back seat before we hop in our vehicles, and always lock our doors.
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