If people ask me what they should write about, I say, "what has been on your mind?" Do you know? I don't think people realize what has been on their mind half the time. What plagues them? What are they working on while they daydream? What are they trying to figure out?
Drumming has been on my mind, and what drumming is supposed to do for me.
Playing drums now, at this juncture of my life, is for self discovery, bottom line. I have to deal with issues that I have always struggled with in order to drum, shyness, lack of confidence, tension, the pressure that I put on myself in all aspects of my life.
Also, because I didn't drum for 25 years, doing so reminds me of my youth, and the past always pains me. I'm not sure why, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with unfulfilled potential. In this case, the pain is tempered by the chance to fulfill some of it.
My life may be set, too much to make a career of drumming, but I can still play well and maybe prove, finally, what I could have been. I think I really want that. But what keeps me going in the face of self-doubt, is that I am drumming to benefit other areas of my life.
Like when I hate my job, it's probably because it is something I have to do for money (oh, obligation!). And I tell myself it has no meaning, and is boring and hurts my neck to sit hunched all day, tense with thoughts of how little meaning it has and how it bores me.
I suspect that's not productive.
So instead, I tell myself that I am not doing it for money. If I do it to grow, if I, like with the drumming, adopt a holistic attitude that this can teach me something I can apply to other aspects of my life, then I keep my eyes open for what those benefits might be, and I will see them and probably get a lot more work done too, cause I've got a good reason to. I can relax, and simply do the best I can, without worrying about whether it is the best that can be done, or whether I'll get criticized for not being fast enough (that's actually a good drum analogy).
Truth is, it isn't boring. My job varies. It involves puzzles, and calculations and understanding. I even write at work, notes in workpapers, e-mails to people, and it improves my writing to some degree, and can be done in creative ways too (sometimes). I can get and give from the knowing of people. I am there, like everywhere I go on earth, to learn something and even possibly to teach, or dare I say lead (another thing I shy away from that drummers need to do).
Granted, I'm not being paid to take a spiritual journey, but in the process, I do provide the service I'm paid to, and better than when I tell myself there's no meaning in it. As Constantin Stanislavski said (I believe it was him), "there are no bit roles, just bit actors".
So, see, drumming reflects my life. The things that hold me back hold back my ability to drum. To be a better drummer, I need to be better, generally. One goal leads to another.
Speaking of music, there are two songs I like, one by the Dixie Chicks, called Truth no. 2 and one by Miles called Blues no. 2, that both have this no. 2 thing going on, and I didn't know what the hell that meant.
Natalie Maines said that she didn't know what that song meant either when they put it on the album but she found out what it meant later on - the lyrics: "You don't like the sound of the truth coming from my mouth" (for those who need a reminder, she's the one that said she was ashamed that President Bush was from Texas and got banned from the radio as a result).
And on Blues no. 2, an outtake from the Someday My Prince Will Come album (added to the CD release), Jimmy Cobb, the drummer, says, crrrrrat crrrrrat dagadagadat. So it's suddenly dawned on me what the no. 2 refers to. It's "the shit." I'm slow on the uptake sometimes.
Speaking of poop, the night before last, I lost our dog's final crap of the evening (we pick up all her poop so we won't step on it later). I looked for it, but it was dark and it was raining, so I left it, figuring it would just wash away.
The next day it rained really hard, so I was sure of it, but my wife informed me that poop does not wash away, reminding me that her father is a chicken farmer and cattle raiser, and so she knows more about poop than I do.
And that's the truth, no 2, too.
And then she said she had a feeling she was going to see that in print, and I said I didn't think I could work it in, but this post wasn't really good enough on its own, so…