Quiet Please

It's snowing like gangbusters out there. I sit on the 27th floor and watch it fall, as if someone cut open a down pillow and dumped the feathers all over Madison Avenue. It is INCREDIBLE!

I went out to dinner with an old friend on Tuesday night. It was fantastic. Afterwards, he took me to this bar he had told me about, and my mouth flew open as we entered what seemed like a secret room, with red painted walls, sweeping oil paintings, candlelight, and quiet. Apparently, QUIET, does exist in New York City. This place, which I can't for the life of me remember its name, doesn't allow parties larger than four people. Upon entering, you pass a sign that says, QUIET PLEASE. I didn't need the sign, because once in, I was SPEACHLESS. It was so beautiful and warm and just the place you want to go for an intimate, peaceful hour. I'm not much of a drinker, but even I could appreciate their homespun cocktails, that came like little green paintings. My friend got one that was like a grass green gem and it tasted like a TOOTSIE ROLL! I got one that was a rich wintergreen and tasted like a fruit smoothie.

We talked openly about artistic and life endeavors. My friend is in a band that is doing rather well. It just seems to get better. Tours with national acts, opportunities, and a building fan base. He is living his life entirely on his artistic career. It's really rather exciting. After an entire dinner and half a drink of talking about such things, he stopped and asked, "Is it hard for you to hear about what I am doing?"

I appreciated so much that he asked me that. It wasn't hard to hear these things, in the normal sense. I am not jealous and in fact, I'm very happy for him. His group is really good and to see them on stage, knowing the parts they were borne from, is to feel that the good guys made it, that somewhere God is giving a giant thumbs up to the good of the world. BUT (and there is always a but), if I was going to be completely honest (and in such cases it is always good to be honest), I also felt blooms of shame. He and I started at the same place. When I fell off that path, he took it to the next level. Do you know how good it is to tell someone that you feel shame in front of them? It's probably the most empowering thing you can do. I knew the shame stemmed not at all from his successes, but from my own regret, that idea that clings to me doggedly that I have somehow failed. I was afraid that my friend pitied me, looked down on me--but guess what? GIRLFRIEND, TAKE A LOOK IN THE MIRROR! It was ME, pitying me, and looking down on me.

We talked more about this. It felt good to admit my shame, but it also felt good to acknowledge that I am, for the most part, on the other side of what I consider a very bleak time. I am more creatively and artistically free than I've ever been. I feel a great sense of hope. I know that PART of my path was that struggle of falling short of a dream I started years ago, but it isn't MY WHOLE STORY (not by a long shot). Someone pointed out to me once that failing means that you have utterly destroyed something. I've made some mistakes, but I don't believe anything is utterly destroyed. Looking at it from that perspective, I haven't failed. And as Natalie Goldberg says, "There is no such thing as failure, only a big field to walk in."

I've been walking in a field for awhile, and now I am at the edge of civilization, looking at a new town, with I am sure includes NEW mistakes, new fields, and a whole new set of expectations that will be challenged, if met at all. In truth, I have NO IDEA where I am, or how it all fits. I just like that I rush home to paint, and that playing music is FUN, and that I can sit in a quiet room with an old friend and admit to the parts in me I don't like. I couldn't do that before, when we were both green and at the same level musically. This is where my path has led me, and it's a good place to arrive to, no matter the route.