Return to Earth: Woodbine

It’s possible that the creative high was hormonal and the song isn’t really good after all.

I felt doubtful about it when I played it at Fat Albert’s last night and forgot half the lyrics--the same ones I’d been blissfully replaying for more than 48 hours. The other day I sang it in the subway with no difficulty whatsoever, but when I played it for people who were listening intently, my mind went blank.

Of course, everyone was supportive anyway. (These places are like church or 12-Step programs, and thank Goodness for that.) I was disappointed that I didn't manage a more polished performance, but I also figured it was a good reminder not to take myself (or the song) too seriously.

“I’d like to hear it again,” one friend told me. (Well, yeah…it’d be good to hear all of the correct lyrics. And in the right order.)

Now that the euphoric high has dissipated and I’ve returned to earth, I’m amazed at how much time was soaked up by the song. It dominated three days, leaving me behind on several things, especially because it came on the heels of last weekend’s concert. I dug out a bit by cleaning the house for an hour today and catching up on a writing project. But I still felt behind on everything and completely exhausted.

I considered skipping the subway, but realized I’d feel better if I did. At the very least, I’d feel better about myself having made the effort. So I went to Woodbine station, a stop I hadn’t visited for a long time. There’s something about the architecture of that green corridor that makes me feel protected and comfortable. I wanted to go there today even though it’s not the most well-travelled station.

Despite feeling exhausted before I began, I found myself singing and playing well, feeling confident and enjoying the connection with people. I played “Music Town” four times (not forgetting the lyrics) which attracted a number of donations. I sold a CD. Today I noticed, as I have other times, that many people making donations were moving more slowly than others, sometimes because of age or disability. On the other hand, others were actually running past me today, but many of them smiled as they whizzed by.

One man stopped to talk, asking if it’s worth my while financially to come out and sing. I told him that it was better than sitting at home.

I didn’t tell him that this afternoon, I’d been in danger of falling prey to the low that can follow the creative high. If I'd stayed home, I would have been second-guessing the quality of my new song and kicking myself for not playing it better last night. In short, I would have been feeling sorry for myself and letting insecurity get the best of me.

Better to come out and sing.