Struggle

At the end of any given Wednesday night meditation, it's not uncommon for our leader to ask, "How did it go for everyone?  Did anybody struggle?"

There's never a rush to answer.  Maybe nobody wants to admit that they struggled, or maybe they really did just fine, thanks.  In any case, the 45-minute session is over anyway, which is a relief, along with whatever struggling might have occurred.  

Still, Wayne asks about "struggle"--because he knows that it's part of spiritual practice at times.

It's not easy to sit in stillness for long periods, especially if we're new to it.  Sometimes we wonder if we're doing it right, or whether we can keep going.  We may start worrying about the wondering...and struggle happens.

It happens in songwriting too.  We may struggle with the gap between our desire to write a great song, and our ability to write only a fair one.  We may struggle to write lyrics that say something meaningful and that also rhyme.   We may also struggle when we notice a self-critical streak that interferes with the joy of simply making music.

Why do we struggle, we struggle so?

That line, I discovered today, has a lovely lilt to it despite its challenging subject matter.  Intuitively, we know that beautiful things can come out of struggle.  In fact, when it comes to art, tension and resistance is essential.

And yet, it's not fun for most of us.  We want our songwriting experience to be pleasant, harmonious and flowing...and our meditation to be calm and peaceful.  Perhaps our desire for struggle-free anything is what trips us up?

As our leader gently reminds us, struggle is to be expected.  We can explore it without anxiety, instead of denying or avoiding it.  Staying present and focused, we realize that we can hang in there.  We don't have to give up on meditation, or a song, or learning to swim, of making a souffle, or maintaining a relationship.

When we keep showing up, despite the effort it takes, we will come to appreciate both the flow and the struggle...the back and forth that affirms we are alive. 

Songwriting and Mood: Two Approaches

The way we see our artistic life can profoundly influence our moods and our sense of well-being.

After working for some time to improve our skills, we may achieve some proficiency.  We may start to collect achievements such as songwriting awards and prestigious bookings.  Our culture teaches us to emphasize these external achievements and we're encouraged to promote ourselves as much as possible. 

It's not surprising that we can become very self-centered as a result!  We might take on an air of entitlement or "special"-ness, thinking that because of our hard work and talent, we deserve to have more attention that others, or a bigger or more appreciative audience than we currently have.  Humility goes out the window.  Resentment kicks in.

To complicate matters,  our high level of sensitivity might cause us to notice those unpleasant dynamics in ourselves (whether we fully admit it or not) and then to feel even worse.  (A good book that explains this vicious cycle is The Mindful Way Through Depression, co-authored by Zen Buddhist mindfulness teacher Jon Kabat-Zinn.)

A different approach is to see our songwriting as a response to life, an expression of gratitude or a reflection of the greater good of which we are a part.  Many artists throughout history, including William Blake, Vincent Van Gogh and Bach, saw their work as an offering to God...but in today's secular culture, that outlook is less common.  It's an outlook worth cultivating, though, because (unlike the more materialistic outlook) it supports our mental health instead of undermining it.

When we see our songwriting as an act of gratitude or joy, and when we offer it up without expectation, we might notice that our feelings of neediness or disappointment decrease.  We may find ourselves feeling more kind toward ourselves and others, and more accepting of the world as it is.  For many of us, that "world as it is" may not include much material reward for our work.  That doesn't mean we cannot create excellent songs or find great joy in the process.  Some of us might make good money, too.  

Whether or do or don't, we support our own well-being--and the well-being of the Whole--when we view our work through a spiritual lens rather than a materialistic one.  Our songs become servants of love, instead of self-interest. 

The next small step

One of the most valuable aspects of the songwriting process is that it forces us to focus on one thing at a time.  

We must make simple, clear decisions.  Which note sounds best in the melodic sequence we're composing?  Which chord creates the right mood?  Every small choice is important.  

If we lose focus on the next step in the process, we can become overwhelmed by the sheer volume of choices available.  Also, we can become distracted by our extravagant hopes for the finished product.  Fear and anxiety enter in, undermining the creative process.  

The same is true of life.  Focusing on the next small step is often more productive than contemplating the "big picture"--as important as we may believe it to be.  For anyone inclined to be overwhelmed by the world's problems, any spiritual practice that focuses on the next small step (note, word, breath...) will support emotional and spiritual health.

Steady achievement of small goals can also, in time, add up to bigger accomplishments, such as finished songs that have integrity and insight. 

Whole lives of integrity and insight can only be created the same way.

Sincerity

This may be the single most important element of a song.

It's not so easy as it sounds.  What do you really believe?  What do you want to stand for...to communicate to others?  Unfortunately, this understanding cannot be willed into existence.  It takes time to develop insight.  Songwriting supports the process...and at the same time, it reflects where we are...how much we currently understand.  

A half-baked idea cannot be camouflaged by nice chords or a pretty melody.  At times that can be humbling.

A songwriting friend, commenting on a recent song, said: "It's really cool.  I like it.  But is it true?"

I think I said, "well, yes and no".  That was a clue that there was more work to be done. 

That reminds me of...

Sometimes, about midway through writing a song, I notice that something about it reminds me of something I've heard before.  It could be a general mood or a similar riff or an approach or a chord pattern. If it's too close to the original, I change it.  But often I notice that I've built in a little nod, an unconscious tip-of-the-hat, to an artist I admire.

As human beings, we're continually reminded of people we know, places we've been, songs we've loved.  By noticing and appreciating them, we integrate all of our experiences into a uniquely meaningful life.  We do this all the time, simply by being aware of what we value: what we love. When we "create something", we just arrange some of that good stuff and put it in a frame. 

So, next time you pick up your instrument and think...hmm, that reminds me a little of [insert song here], play with it until you make something new...but celebrate the fact that your song is connected to every song you've ever loved.

Open Mic, Open Heart

If it weren't for community open stages, I'd probably still be singing alone in my house.

But I notice, sometimes, that open mics can bring out my "shadow" side.  (Something to do with the lighting in those venues?)

Carl Jung first conceived of the idea of the shadow: the part of yourself you hide from the rest of the world--and even yourself.  The shameful stuff we don't like to see.

When we start noticing our shadow, we can start working with it more consciously.  That self-awareness is bound to help our songs.

Many features of open mics can challenge the ego and bring the shadow "into the light", so to speak. Here are a few:

• Do we feel superior to this singer or inferior to that one?  Compassionately noticing our competitiveness can help us develop humility and self-confidence. 

• Are we impatient, waiting for our turn to play?  When we notice this, we can practice being grateful for the present moment. 

• No time to warm up or adjust the sound system?  People talking over your set?  A golden opportunity for intolerant perfectionists. 

• Your performance isn't as good as hoped?  Are you beating yourself up?  Notice that...and practice being kind to yourself. 

The funny thing is, those shadowy aspects of ourselves may be exactly the thing we hope not to show from the stage.

But even if (maybe especially if) our songs are all about peace and love, we've got to wrestle in the dark with the shadow (anxiety, intolerance).     

Only by opening up to every part of our experience--both the light and the dark--will we truly grow.  

Is Your Song Stable?

If your song were a person, would you consider it stable?

Or is it unbalanced...a little off-kilter...troubled somehow?

One characteristic of a strong song is its sense of balance and stability.  It's self-supporting.  For example, the ideas in the verses tend to support the main idea of the chorus...and every verse supports every other one.

The mood and feel of the song will likely be congruent with the song's message.  The melody will likely "match" the words.  Perhaps most important, the message of the song will be congruent with your own unique personhood: your true values and dreams.

Of course, no song or person is "stable" all the time.  We often feel out-of-whack for one reason or another and our songs often reflect that.  In fact, a song is a very appropriate place to express feelings of confusion and anxiety.

At the same time, simply in the act of writing a song, we draw ourselves a roadmap for emotional stability.

It takes effort to consciously choose the right word to complete a rhyme (for example), just as it takes effort to make conscious choices that support our physical, emotional and spiritual health.

But it's worth it!

When the process is complete, we have a strong, stable, true song.  A mirror of our best selves.

Question and Answer (Songwriting as Magic 8 Ball)

When I was growing up, a friend had a Magic 8 Ball that offered answers to the perplexing questions of adolescence. It was fun to consult the mysterious oracle and see what it said.  (I just looked it up on Wikipedia, and was reminded of some of the answers: "It is decidedly so" and "reply hazy, try again". I think I got that "hazy" one a lot.)  

I think that our songs act as oracles sometimes.

When we pick up our instrument during a time of questioning, interesting answers will come out.  

They may not be the ones we're expecting. They may not give us step-by-step instructions on how to proceed. But they can help us understand what our intuitive wisdom is trying to tell us. 

We need our "left-brain", logical sides to make decisions...but we also need our dreamy, "right-brain" sides.  Artistic activity kick-starts both sides at once.  This is great news for complicated lives like ours!  

I just realized that over the last few days, I've been using my songwriting as a kind of oracle.  Two different songs emerged in answer to the same question.

The interesting thing is, one song is "better" than the other.  It's much easier to remember and sing.  It's catchier...more likely to stick.  

Ask your songs to answer your questions.  Then listen to what they say.  

Our best and our worst

Songwriting (and activities related to it, such as performance) can bring out our best and our worst qualities.  It's worthwhile to take a closer look at them, to understand how they affect our relationships and our lives. 

Here are some of the great qualities that songwriters often have. (Cue the applause!)

- Emotional sensitivity.
- Insight into human behavior (which leads to empathy and compassion).
- Orientation toward beauty, balance and harmony.
- Observation and awareness of the world.  Consciousness.

On the other hand, you might have noticed these qualities. (Hiss, boo!)

- Self-centeredness.  Over-attentiveness to ourselves and our feelings.
- Demand for approval and attention.
- Judgment of others' work; competitiveness.
- Cynicism and disappointment.

These shadow aspects of our creative lives hold very real risks for us. 

It's not that we "shouldn't" have these feelings (I believe they're something of an occupational hazard) but we do need to be conscious of them and choose how to work with them. 

Sometimes those feelings can become the material for songs. Anger and resentment, for example, offer fantastic energy that can fuel the creative process. The song you write is likely to offer healing harmony just when you need it.  

At other times, it's important to simply notice what's going on and find a way to regain equilibrium...perhaps by being in nature, reading an inspirational book or talking with a supportive friend.

We don't want to give up our sensitivity and "shut down"...but we perhaps can learn to "tune" our sensitivity.   

As T.S. Eliot once wrote, "Teach me to care, and not to care.  Teach me to sit still." 

Old Song Stuff (or "'Auld Lang Song")

This Christmas, my son gave me a wonderful homemade gift: a bottle of "Stuff Be Gone".

He put a hand-drawn label on a spray bottle, filled it with green-tinted water  and warned me not to spray anything I genuinely love.

He knows me really well.  He knows that "stuff" has always been a challenge for me. (I've written several songs about it, too.)  Sometimes I'm afraid to let go of what I don't love--even if it causes actual problems for me. Gradually I am getting better at making choices, letting go, appreciating more and accumulating less. 

As songwriters, sometimes we notice an accumulation of "song stuff": lyric fragments, half-finished songs, musical motifs and titles. Meanwhile, we might wonder why we haven't been able to finish many songs. We might feel simultaneously overwhelmed and empty...and troubled by feelings of guilt because we haven't "done anything" with our song stuff.

If this rings true for you, this is a great time to start anew. 

Rip an ancient notebook into tiny shreds. Throw away CDs or cassette tapes (yes, some of us still have those lying around!) with unfinished musical work on them.  Better yet, have an old fashioned bonfire fueled by unfinished songs.

After you've burned those old almost-lyrics, sit in front of a blank white sheet of paper for several minutes.  Don't write anything.

Just appreciate the peace--and the promise--of that blank page.

Happy New Year!  

Follow that song!

Recently I've come to the irritating recognition that my best songs are "better" than me.

They tend to affirm a higher calling or value (faith, love, forgiveness, generosity, hope...) that I want to live up to, but can't all the time.

A good song, though, lives up to a higher calling quite nicely.  It expresses its main idea consistently and clearly, and doesn't mess up.  Songs say something like "I believe in you" and leave out the real-life verse that goes, "even though I didn't act like that yesterday morning at breakfast".

Both parts of life's song are true...both the "good" and admirable part and the "ugh, I don't want anybody to know that" part.

Sometimes a little of that embarrassing stuff finds its way into a song and gives it depth and authenticity.  Other times, the ungraceful, messy and unfinished parts are for our ears only.  (And I think that's a good thing. The whole extended play version.) 

When a song lives up to our highest callings, reflecting our deepest values in a clear and resonant way, we must continue to sing it--both for others and in our hearts--especially at the times when we lose confidence in ourselves.  When we forget what we know. 

In those confusing times, we can let our best songs lead us.  They know the way.

Message to the Future: Hidden Wisdom in Your Songs

James Keelaghan has a song called “Message to the Future” that lists a number of ways people write time-capsule messages to themselves, including by becoming parents. I believe that as artists, we send out messages to our future selves all the time.

In the same way that dreams send out coded messages from our unconscious to our conscious minds, our songs carry particular signals meant for us and us alone, in addition to any other audiences they reach.

With a little practice, you can learn to discover layers of meaning in your songs that you didn’t even know were there, and that can guide you in your life’s journey. In other words, a song might become a psychic “hit” for you—even if it never earns a penny!

Here’s where to look for those hidden messages:

Words that have more than one meaning

A song of mine is called “I Would Recognize You Anywhere”. When I wrote it, I meant the word “recognize” to mean “to identify someone by sight”, specifically a family member. However, one fan of the song “misunderstood” the word to mean “to affirm, honour or validate”— an alternate meaning I had never even considered. Since then, I have come to understand that the theme of “recognition-as-validation” is central to my life story and family history. As a result, my understanding of the song has become deeper and more nuanced, as have my performances of it.

Recurring symbols

The first time I ever used a house key as a symbol in my writing, I was about six years old. As an adolescent, I had trouble over lost keys…then, in my marriage, a house key became the central image in a story told and re-told to describe recurring conflict. As a musician, I even have a chronic insecurity about not knowing what “key” I’m in! It’s not surprising that one of my personal favourite original songs is called “Keys”. Meditating on that symbol and how it’s manifested itself in my life leads me to new insights. Playing the song is part of that meditation.

Songs you rarely play

Look carefully at any song that embarrasses you or that you never felt was “good enough” to play in public, any song that reveals something about you that you’d rather others not know, any song you rarely (or never) play in public that is alive for you privately. These songs may hold clues to areas of growth or understanding you may be avoiding. When you embrace these songs (whether or not you decide to play them in public) you also embrace parts of yourself that have been disowned.


A song from your long-ago past

If you have been writing songs for some time, you may discover that a song written a long time ago was a symbolic representation of circumstances you didn’t fully understand at the time. Propelled by our unconscious, the songs we write send us messages that our conscious minds cannot—and sometimes it takes years to decode them!

Recently, when I realized that a painful adult situation is a mirror of an unhealed aspect of my childhood, I suddenly remembered a song I had written as a teenager. Without consciously knowing what I was doing, I had described in poetic language the predicament I was in then and that I now find myself in as an adult. Even though I had been a precocious writer as a child, I didn’t have the maturity to consciously understand my situation—but my unconscious mind wrote a song that now sheds light on my life story and helps guide my growth.

If you find yourself in a time of personal challenge or discernment, look to the spiritual and subconscious dimensions of your songs as additional sources of wisdom.