Staying Afloat

When I returned to Queen's Park subway the next day, I found it harder to swim.

I was tired, to begin with. Also, the seas themselves seemed to be rougher.

I find myself continually asking the question: Are there collective moods that take over public spaces or are the people passing by simply reflecting my state-of-mind? Am I simply projecting? That seems quite possible (although it's maddening when I think I'm in an excellent frame of mind but the public response suggests otherwise).

I know that these projections must be real, and yet, I can't shake the impression that there's also a mysterious and broad collective consciousness at work, a consciousness in which I myself am immersed.

Whatever. This afternoon I played four whole songs before anybody donated.

But maybe it was worth the wait, because the first donation came about in a spectacular way.

A group of grade school students (around grade six) came through the station on a field trip. A number of them tried to stop and gather round ("Hey, listen to the great singer!") , digging in their pockets for change while their teacher tried to corral them and keep them on track. It took me several seconds too long to realize I should be supporting their teacher and encouraging them to keep moving, instead of revelling in the spontaneous gathering of the crowd that I'd been craving. (I did finally shoo them off...after several of them gave me change.)

After they left, as donations continued to be slow, I felt the now-familiar trickling away of my confidence. I questioned the quality of my material and played cover versions of other people's songs to see if they fared better, which they did not.

For the first hour, a woman was panhandling at the top of the stairs nearby, maybe thirty paces away. Many of the people passing me would have passed her first...and had to make a decision about whether or not to give to her. I wonder if that decision, and the resulting negative feelings that might result, might have affected people's response to me? It's a theory. After she left, business picked up, but not dramatically.

One of the side benefits of a slow donation period is that once I've accepted the reality of the situation, I usually just play whatever I feel like. Today, I pulled out a winter song, which I wouldn't ordinarily play if I thought people were really listening. It's called Skates & Wings.

The song is not so much about skating as it is about one woman's balancing act, and about falling down and getting up again.

As I played, a woman stopped and told me how much she appreciated it, because it had been a hard day. I felt that I had been singing the song for a reason, and that once again I could pick myself up, take a deep breath and keep singing.