SO…I’m sitting here at midnight on a Tuesday evening watching the Oscars on Hulu Plus. Congratulations to Hulu for creating such urgency for me to sit here and watch the awards show in it’s entirety simply because you said “only one day left for viewing”.
Well, here I am blubbering and smiling for all the winners. I do this because for me, all awards shows bring such inspiration. I love these shows. Even the ones with terrible hosts, technical difficulties, and… when my favorites don’t win.
I’ve been beaming for Adele. It’s not because I think that her song Skyfall is the best song ever written. Nor is it because I think that she is the greatest singer. Although, I can say without a doubt that I really appreciate the gift of her voice. She is remarkable. What I saw tonight was a young woman who stepped out and took a chance to follow what her heart was leading her to do.
I gotta say…I, at different times tonight, went from elated to super pissy. I was so inspired to write and sing and compose that I got all excited and anxious. And then…it started to spiral.
I’m just going to throw this out there. I’m really frustrated that I haven’t put any music out in a record or single or even freaking cassette tape. I’m frustrated that I feel like I’m waiting. And waiting. And waiting. I’m frustrated that I see so many of my musician friends recording all the time. HOW DO THEY DO THAT? How are they able to get the people together to learn the music, to go to the studio, to do their part. How come I can’t seem to pull my shit together enough to make this thing happen. For crying out loud, I don’t want to be a superstar. I just want to write songs and let other people sing them and become superstars. I’m angry.
Then it hit me.
People might crap all over what I have stressed over and poured over and cried over and shared from my guts. And then I tried crawling back in my shell. What the hell. I realize that this is just a stream of thought but follow me.
It’s not about people not liking my music, my voice, or my songs. I already know that not everyone is going to like my stuff. Every time I try to write or sing, I hear the voice of a childhood friend tell me that I “shouldn’t quit my day job”. I know that even some my closest friends aren’t going to like it. It’s just the way things are and I’m really okay with that.
It’s about where these things come from….my life, my experiences, my emotion. Raw and visceral. By sharing any part of yourself, whether it be acting, music, writing, painting, blogging, you name it …when you choose to share this part of you, you lift a veil. You lift a veil that so perfectly encompasses your ugly, dark, beautiful, and bright self. You are no longer protected by what shields you. This scares the shit out of me. And I mean this in every sense of the phrase.
Vulnerability. Being vulnerable. What a tragically horrifying and beautiful thing.
So, Mr. Oscar, you are a statue of sweat, tears, triumph and vulnerability and if I ever get to place my hands on you, may it be because you have frozen my very self into your being.