It’s about starting over . com

Are you blogging? Do you say, “hum, what should I write?” before beginning each post? Or are you one of those bloggers who feels that you know exactly what you want to say but as you’re writing, you have to ask yourself if you really want to tell it all, exactly as it is?

There comes a time in blogging where you have to ask yourself, “Exactly how much do I want to reveal here?” For sure, no one wants to put something out there in black and white that will come up later and bite them in their future.

We’re all vulnerable and we all want people to see us in a certain light. We all have secrets, and we all have things that aren’t exactly secrets but that we would just rather not reveal publicly. And we all have fears. When starting over, venturing out into the unknown, the two biggest fears are “what if I fail?” and “what if I succeed?”

The “what if I succeed” fear is something that needs the help of a professional to overcome, that is, if it’s preventing you from trying something you really want to do. Sometimes, it’s just easier to stay in the comfortable place that we’ve already settled into. But the “what if I fail?” question, which I’m guessing is a lot more common, is about losing face, about making a fool of yourself, and for me and others who want to inspire, it’s a much larger issue: If I try and fail, how can I encourage others to try? After all, it hurts big-time to fail, and sometimes you loose things or people in the process. The image of a hung head and a proverbial tucked tail come to mind.

Maybe the saying, “It’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all,” is relevant here. Is it better to have tried and failed than to never have tried at all? Better to have ventured and embarrassed oneself than never to have ventured at all? And is it better to have revealed the truth of our fears and losses, or better to remain…safe? Continue Reading »

Yesterday in one of my classes, the teacher was taking attendance and he called the name of a guy named Liad (in Hebrew, it means “next to”). One of the students pointed out that he was the kid who recently died. The story is that (he’s not really a kid) Liad set out on his way to propose marriage to his girlfriend and got into a car accident that he didn’t make it out of. I think he was in his early twenties.

The energy level of the entire class dropped as if a collective “oh” of realization had been sighed–the teacher remained poised with his pen hovering over that place in the attendance sheet where Liad’s name was printed. Without looking up he said, “I can’t cross it off.” I told him to mark him as here because he most definitely was with us at that moment. Evidently someone in the main office felt the same way and that’s why Liad’s name still appears on our attendance printouts.

The attendance roster of life

How much time has to go by before we erase the memory of those who have passed on before us? I guess that depends on their closeness to us, or on the profundity of their passing. Who among those alive at the time will ever forget the death of John Kennedy? I’ll remember Liad because of that moment in our class.

Four years since…what?

On December 9th, I auditioned to attend The Berklee College of Music. I think that this is one of my more important milestones and the results will substantially influence the direction my life will take over the coming years. So it comes as no surprise that Continue Reading »

Last night, I performed at the Tzora Folk club near Jerusalem. Although I had closed with the organizers some time ago, I hadn’t been able to decide on a set list. Should I perform songs that Ray and I had done together, or should I stick with more neutral material? I’m really rusty on the guitar and haven’t sung much lately anyway, so I figured I should go with something I’m secure with. That means something I’ve written, or am used to performing. But for some reason, I just didn’t feel like practicing. I kept telling myself, “that’s no way for a performer to behave,” but it didn’t help at all. I just didn’t have the desire. On Wednesday, I ran through the songs I had decided on: Changing Horses  by Dan Fogelberg, Further and Further Away by Cheryl Wheeler, and If I Could Only…by Ray and myself. I was forgetting words and flubbing the guitar parts, but that would happen at this point with any song I chose so I stuck with those.

There was a pre-opening jam. This was the first one I’d joined and I just loved it. There were friends, good friends, and potential friends all around, and the music was bluegrass, olde timey and whatever. I tried to catch the chords and rhythm, but mostly just had fun. I thought to myself, well, I can do this, I can perform here without breaking down. I was feeling relaxed and happy. Then people started arriving and we had to clear the floor.

I was third or fourth on. By the time I was introduced, my hands were beginning to shake and I was feeling a lot less relaxed. I had been quietly running through the guitar part while the others were performing, so I knew I was capable, so why was I nervous all of a sudden?

I made it through Changing Horses without a hitch, but it ends unexpectedly and the audience was silent for a moment, probably expecting the song to go on. Further and Further away is one of those songs that can touch you deeply in a very personal way–it’s written just right (Cheryl has a way of doing that). When I came to the last verse, I cracked, but didn’t let it show.

I can hear the songs you used to sing,
I can swear I won’t let go.
You were strong and you knew everything,
That was all I had to know.

Then I shake my head, clearing my vision,
I keep those scenes at bay,
But I can hear the songs you used to sing
Slipping further and further away.”

I spoke the words, “…I can hear the songs you used to sing…”, holding back the tears. Okay, I said to myself, pull yourself together, it’s been almost two years now, you can do this.

I dropped the fancy introduction to “If I Could Only” and went straight into the first verse. Voice and hands shaking, I made it to the end of the fist verse okay, but the second one, which Ray used to sing to me, was hard. Really hard, and I began to remember the day we wrote it. We were at his home in Jerusalem (the one in the picture on his website.) We had argued briefly over some stupid thing the night before, and with the morning light, we both regretted it. We were deep into recording songs for our CD, Poor Working Slob, and after breakfast, Ray went right to the editing. I stepped outside with my guitar, and the verses started coming. At one point, I noticed that Ray had opened the front door to come outside but when he saw me writing, he disappeared–Ray had the highest respect for the artistic process and hadn’t wanted to disturb me. After I finished the fist verse, I went inside to show him what I had written, and asked him if he wanted to write it with me. Ray being Ray, he said no, “It’s your song,” but I could tell that he wanted to so I nudged him on. He wrote the second verse with vigor, and then we wrote the third together. He loved the song because he said that it expresses the artists frustration at not being able to do what everyone thinks s/he already does. As I was standing there onstage, finishing up the change between the second and third verse, I could see his face clearly in my mind–smiling, calling me Joey, eyes all a-crinkle.

The third verse begins, “If I could only have the time, ’cause there’s so little time…” And that’s when I really broke. I barely finished the song, walked “off stage” with my eyes down so no one could see that I was in tears, tucked my guitar into its case and ran to the ladies room. I want to tell you that the grief hit me full force. It was as if Ray had died again that very day, and my whole world fell apart yet again. The hole in my chest was new and gaping, and I don’t know how long I stayed there, sobbing silently.

After a while, I dried my eyes thinking maybe I should go back in. I began to remember the words of the grief counselor I had gone to–she had said that the grief never really goes away, and that it doesn’t lessen in intensity, it just comes less frequently and subsides faster as time goes by. She said that the first year is like a field filled with landmines, and that the griever never knows where they are or when s/he’s going to step on one. But when you do, you can bet it’ll blow up. Some of these landmines, or “triggers” are unexpected, but some are predictable. For me, performing is a real trigger, and performing at a place like the Tzora Folk Club is a real trigger because not only did Ray and I perform there together, but it was his home away from home–indeed, he’s even buried there (well, not in the folk club )

I left early, having a long drive back and wanting to visit with my son and his girlfriend before starting for home (they live near Tzora). The visit was nice, and I got home around 2:30 a.m. I looked at the clock and thought, “Well, now I really am living like a musician.” It felt good. I had breakfast today around noon and did a lot of thinking.

Should I stop singing the songs that Ray and I used to perform together? Should I stop performing at places where we used to perform? Would any stage awaken the same feelings in me, that expectation that, if I only turn my head slightly I would catch sight of him? That I could see that smile of his, those crinkly eyes, and the expression on his face that let me know exactly what he was feeling again…if I could only…

I think I’ll try to make it to the monthly jam session if it’s at all possible (money and time are big considerations). Since I never took part in one with Ray, it should be easy, not to mention fun. As for the songs, I don’t know but I’d be interested in hearing your comments. I’ve got another performance coming up next weekend, so I’ll need to decide. It’s another place where Ray and I never performed, so maybe it’s a good chance to see if the location is my “trigger.” Might be worth a try.

Today was a beautiful day, cool and quiet with the whole country gearing down for the Sabbath. A sweet breeze tickled the leaves of the Acacia tree in my front yard and I played my guitar for over an hour just for fun–I simply put on a CD of music I love and played along.

School begins the day after tomorrow–After that, I’ll be having real practicing to do, guitar, drums, piano. Maybe the jams will be just the thing to break the tension each month.