Fire Juggling

Over the last few days, I've been re-considering my decision to audition for the subway again.

When I started this project, I said "it's only for a year". (At one point, I described it as similar to "A Year In Provence", Peter Mayle's chronicle of his unexpectedly challenging sojourn in France.) Lately, when I've been telling people I've re-applied, some friends' eyebrows have risen even further up.

For all the joys of sharing these songs I love so much, and meeting so many interesting people in the process, there has also been a steady drip, drip, drip of doubt.

I've felt a growing irritation that in our society, it's perfectly okay to walk right past someone doing something generous and life-affirming and creative (doesn't have to be singing, could be fire-juggling or reciting poetry or making chalk paintings) and pretend they're not there.

At times, I've been annoyed at myself for not being a better juggler. For not being more talented, more unconventional, more compelling in my songs and performance. (There's still a temptation to blame myself when people walk right past, despite my belief that ANY unknown artist, however gifted, would have more or less the same level of success.)

I've also been critical of myself for not being a better juggler in other ways as well: for not managing the family/business/music balancing act in such a way that I could succeed in a more conventional (respectable, impressive) way.

Throughout the experience so far--and in the course of any given hour--two states-of-mind seem to be vying for supremacy. (Flip, flip, flip go the flaming batons.)

One is pride. (Confidence, self-acceptance.)

The other is shame.

(Playing with fire, indeed.)

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The interplay between these feelings (as well as the interplay between love and fear, generosity and selfishness...) fascinates me. The energy created by that tension is, I realize, part of what has kept me playing in the subway.

At the same time, the feelings are real and probably do have real consequences if not handled with caution.
I'm reminded of the warning my songwriting friend gave me at the beginning of the year: "You have to be careful. People burn out."

I think that this must have been what he was talking about. The insecurity and feelings of alienation must've gotten to his friends, like toxic fumes.

The shortest route to a healthy and self-protective outlook would have been the "up" escalator.