Dear Caroline

The following is an email exchange between me and a friend of mine who’s an extremely talented musician and who, in the 25 years I’ve known her, has done everything in her power NOT to share her amazing talent….

dear caroline:

your homework is due.

6 weeks ago i challenged you to perform one live gig and to line up another gig by today…and you accepted my challenge.

how was your gig? did you feel nervous? excited? both? was the audience receptive? did you receive a standing ovation? or did they boo? did you leave feeling proud...that you had done your best...or that you held something back?

if you didn't perform anywhere, and you haven't lined up a gig, then i renew my challenge. the venue can be anywhere...invite someone who's a friend to join you if that'll make it easier. but you need to have something at stake. that's the difference between a professional and an amateur.  put your guitar case on the ground with the top open. or a tip jar. or a coconut shell.  

do you accept?

if you didn't step up to the plate, i invite you to ask yourself the following questions:

1. why did i accept this challenge?

2. why didn't i deliver the goods?

3. do i think i have anything to offer a musical audience? in other words...am i "good"?

4. if the answer to #3 is no, then why not?

5. do i really want to be a musician, or do i just like the idea of being a musician?

6. what are the possible outcomes if i perform solo in front of an audience?

a. they will think i suck and i'll be revealed as the no-talent impostor i think i am.

b. they'll boo and throw rotten tomatoes at me

c. they'll tell all their friends how bad i am and i'll never be able to pick up a guitar or sing in public or show my face in this town again.

d. i will die of shame

e. i'll be the next grammy award winning female vocalist and/or songwriter of the year

f. none of the above...i will simply have the experience of performing live, of taking the challenge, of throwing my hat in the ring, of getting in the game. and...i can say to myself "you did it!"  then i can decide whether i want to do it again.

btw, if the answer to #5 is no...i love music, i love playing music and being around musicians but i just don't want to be in the spotlight or i'm not ready to take this on right now or i just want to keep music as a hobby (which is a great idea...i can’t think of a more surefire way to whip the life and soul out of something you love doing than to do it for a living) then that is completely ok...

but if the answer is "yes, i want to be a REAL musician, then why am i making excuses, which may include, but are not limited to:
a. i've been busy moving house

b. when i come home from work i'm too tired

c. i've got a lot going on right now

d. i've been preoccupied with this, that or the other thing.

just so you know…all of those excuses are exactly that…excuses. they're a smoke screen for fear. fear of failure? or maybe fear of success?  what would happen if you are really as good as i think you are...then what?

do you feel upset right now? annoyed? unjustly accused? agitated? defensive? angry? if so, then maybe what i'm saying has some truth to it. if you're not having any of those responses, then you've either got a legitimate excuse, or you're dead. which is a legitimate excuse.

by now you're probably thinking "enough already....just leave me alone!"  if so, my response is:

1. i care about you and for as long as i've known you i've thought you were an amazing musician, guitar player, singer and song writer. the world would be a better place if more people heard you play and sing...or even if they heard other people play and sing music you've written...although that wouldn't be nearly as enjoyable. by not stepping up to the plate...even if it means complete "failure" (there is no such thing by the way)...then you are depriving the rest of us…you are being selfish with your talent.

2. here's the kicker....this is actually a letter to myself.

i'll leave you with a few quotes and a link to a friend's blog. he writes music and sings and performs all the time.  has for years…and he’d be the first to tell you it’s really scary.

much love...

           

john

           

"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to to look fear in the face ...You must do the thing you think you cannot do."

           

            :: Eleanor Roosevelt ::

           

            "Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it.

            Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. Begin it now."

           

            :: Goethe ::

           

            "Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men

            as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing."

           

            :: Helen Keller ::

           

            

            Regarding today’s outdoor gig: An open letter to the Universe :: Tim Birchard  
triptopine.wordpress.com

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hey caroline:

i sent you an email and haven't heard back from you.

are you ok?  alive?  in a ditch?  in the hospital?

talk to me....

love,

j.

_____________________________________________________________

dear john...

I apologize for my delay in responding to your heartfelt letter...I have been composing a response since I got it...but have been in the throes of...playing music!...

so many things you said confronted me...it is a worthy challenge to anyone pursuing a creative path...I like what you said at the end about it being a letter to you, really :)

when my assignment was due, I can say that I succeeded, at least in part to your challenge...though not completely...I spent a weekend playing my original music at the Kerrville folk festival...it's not as informal a place as you might think, I played for some heavy hitters...I was singing non-stop and stepping up to the solo plate to perform for friends and strangers alike...including some very discriminating song circles...

your questions are so valid...and I do appreciate the supportive spirit of your "assignments"...you are quite right...it's high time to step up...that's what I'm doing...you have had a part in nudging me...I am grateful my friend...

           

again, I'm sorry for the delay to your notes...I took it seriously, and wanted to reply when I could honor both of us properly...I didn't intend to take so long...

caroline

p.s. the very day I got your second challenge I was offered a solo gig in Austin playing for a private party...I performed last weekend with my friend Will Taylor who accompanied me on viola

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wow! that's fantastic news! congratulations! salud! mazel tov!

i am so pleased and tickled to hear that you're "doing it"! you seemed almost apologetic that kerrville folk festival wasn't the real deal. it IS the real deal. i actually thought of kerrville as a possible venue from the very beginning.

and isn't it interesting that no sooner had you stepped out on the tight rope than your intention attracted another opportunity to perform. not at all coincidental in my humble opinion. and the fact that it was will taylor, who has played with some big names in the music world, is further validation that others, who know alot more about music than i do, also appreciate your talent.

and to further underscore the synchronicity of all this, i was feeling "guilty"....(i hate that word and that feeling) that i hadn't posted anything to my blog lately....and i was just proof reading my latest entry when i got your message.

how 'bout them apples?

j.

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love them apples! I don't think those opportunities, born from taking the tight-rope step, are coincidental either..."one thing can lead to another...it doesn't take any sacrifice..." (james taylor, shower the people you love with love)...

I'm happy to say I'll be opening a show for Steve Weichert at the Cactus Cafe on Sat night...July 14th too...

btw, I'm looking into a train ride from austin to flagstaff, az and the grand canyon for my 50th birthday...that. is. my. intention!

you have been such a good friend to care enough to pester me so...love you dear...thank you...

caroline

Gone Fishing

The other day I was walking down the sandy street which is the main thoroughfare on the tiny island of Caye Caulker, Belize.  It's lined with stalls full of T-shirts and trinkets, wood carvings and what not, and vendors calling out to the sunburned tourists passing by.

Within 90 seconds of stepping off the ferry, 3 guys offered me accommodations, 2 guys in golf carts offered to transport me to my accommodations, 2 ladies offered me handwoven blankets and another guy promised the choicest ganja in all of Central America.


After politely declining their solicitations, I was approached by a guy with an offer he was absolutely certain I couldn't refuse... a sweet deal on a deep sea fishing excursion. 


His face fell when I told him that I associate fishing with Eternal Damnation.

My grandfather used to take my younger brother and me fishing in a bass boat which he pulled on a trailer with a Louisiana license plate that bore the motto “Sportman’s Paradise”.

Paradise was exactly what I longed for as we sat in the blazing summer heat wearing long sleeves and jeans to protect us from sunburn.  The oppressive temperature was magnified by the aluminum frying pan in which we were sitting, and the reflective surface of the lake,  only inches away, it beckoned us with the promise of cool relief.  Water, water everywhere…but for fishing only.  Not swimming.

We had to sit as still as statues, watching in tortured boredom as our red and white plastic floaters bobbed on the surface of the murky lake. Time slowed to a geological pace. After an eon or so, one of us would get a nibble and the floater would be pulled below the surface.  


Jerking on our bamboo pole and then feeling the line go slack, we invariably hoisted our hook from the water to see it glinting in the scorching sun…baitless. The catfish were simply toying with us. If, during these nano-seconds of grappling with what we imagined to be leviathans from the deep, we accidentally shuffled our feet
 or let out an exclamation of excitement, we received a heavy sigh 
and/or a reprimand for frightening the fish.  What fun!

When we finally abandoned our futile efforts and headed back to the green Ford LTD that had been baking in the scorching sun all afternoon, we had to endure a 2 hour nausea-inducing ride that was much like the seventh circle of hell in Dante’s Inferno.  Once we got home, we’d sit around in the back yard swatting mosquitoes while grand dad fired up a bubbling cauldron of oil, followed by a dinner of fried fillets full of tiny bones...washed down with iced tea, the house wine of the South.

Afterwards, there’d be the interminable wait while grand dad poured rock salt into the ice-cream maker and hand-cranked it for an eternity. Even as a child it baffled me why someone who was born before electricity was in wide-spread use wouldn't want to take full advantage of it. Long after dark and the fireflies were headed home to bed, we’d have a taste of the gooey, runny white concoction which many people nostalgically remember as “home made vanilla ice cream”. 

All of that to say that when someone invites me on a fishing trip, I’d rather sign up for 8 hours stuck in an elevator with an insurance salesman followed by a colonoscopy. 

I've Dived and Gone to Heaven

Can you spot the shark in this photo before it spots you? ©www.CosmicCandidCamera.com

As I descended the buoy line into the increasingly cold, dark and murky abyss...unable to see the bottom, or more than 10 feet in front of me, I could hear only the sound of my breathing and feel the bubbles rising past my ears as I exhaled through my regulator.

I felt like a flag flapping in the wind as my body swung perpendicular to the rope in the powerful current. I was already shivering when my mask began to fill with icy water.  The thought went through my mind that if I lost my grip I’d be swept into the middle of the Pacific Ocean where the likelihood of anyone finding me would be slim.  I was reminded of the poster for the movie “Alien”….In outer space no one can hear you scream.

The four of us finally reached the bottom...125 feet below the surface.  Letting go of the rope and clinging precariously to the rocks, we inched our way hand over hand until we reached a lookout point frequented by large reef sharks.  Peering down from our perch atop an underwater cliff, the rocky wall below us plunged into a deeper, darker pit of blackness.  

To make matters worse, the dive computer strapped to my wrist was beeping manically, alerting me that I needed to head to the surface NOW.  The deeper you dive, the more slowly you need to ascend in order to avoid the risk of decompression sickness, paralysis or even death. But I didn't have much choice....I could either leave the group and take a chance on not being able to find my way back in the semi-twilight terrain around me, or I could stay until the rest of the group was ready to ascend.  But at that depth and chilly temperature, combined with the effort required to advance into the powerful current, I was consuming a lot more air than usual.

Meanwhile, my dive computer continued to rack up the number of minutes I would need to ascend in order to get rid of the nitrogen that was rapidly accumulating in my tissues and bloodstream.  It was like sitting in a taxi in the middle of a traffic jam watching the fare climb higher and higher without getting any closer to your destination.  To continue to ignore it would not only put me in serious danger but would also render my computer useless for subsequent dives, since it to "punishes" you by shutting down completely for 24 hours if you disregard the warnings for too long.

 

When we finally began our ascent, without having seen a single shark, my computer indicated that I needed 16 minutes to ascend 125 feet.  That's the equivalent of walking at a pace of 2 steps per minute on a chilly day wearing nothing but your underwear.  That’s slow.  And cold!  Oh...and don't forget...there was an increasingly high probability that I would run out of air.  I watched the needle on my pressure gauge drop from 200 to 150 to 100.  As we inched our way up the buoy line, I narrowly avoided impaling my hand on the rusty barbs of a fish hook that was imbedded in the rope.  Needless to say, I made it back to the surface safely, albeit with a tank that was almost empty.  I loved every minute of it.

On the other end of the spectrum, I’ve dived in water so crystal clear that it created the optical illusion that the boat was hovering in mid-air above the ocean floor. The water temperature was like taking a bath as the sunlight played on the coral and the schools of multi-colored fish that swarmed around us. 

The feeling of gliding effortlessly and weightlessly through a world that is inhabited by creatures which bear absolutely no resemblance to their terrestrial counterparts is like no other.  White-tipped reef sharks that stopped evolving a million years ago because they reached the apex of efficiency with regard to killing their prey.   Yellow and black and white striped angel fish swimming in pairs with long streamers trailing from their dorsal and pectoral fins.  

Lobsters and octopi hiding in the cracks and crevices of rocks.  Moray eels as thick as your upper arm with faces that would make an atheist believe in The Devil.  Graceful sea turtles gliding by as if in slow motion....which you soon discover is not the case if you try to follow one.  Kind of like watching a plane land, their speed is deceptive.  Puffer fish, squirrel fish, clown fish, tarpin.  Slow-moving, slack-jawed grouper that look like the village idiots compared to all the clever or comical looking fish around them. 

Huge sea fans and coral with ridges and grooves that look like a massive brain.  Tube sponges of neon red and yellow and green. Starfish of every size and description and picturesquely peaceful outcroppings on the faces of underwater cliffs that make you want to build an underwater house and live there.

There's a sensation of flying, of being on another planet, of being in an altered state of consciousness...of dreaming and yet feeling completely lucid. The colors and shapes that defy description.  The strange beings that look like aliens...manta rays, sting rays, eagle rays...creatures that would boggle the imagination of Dr. Seuss.

The sense of camaraderie you feel with those in your dive group...knowing that you're looking out for them and they're looking out for you.  At least that's the idea, anyway. The sense of danger and the need to stay alert and to keep your wits about you. The hyper-awareness of everything around you but also the sense that if you pay attention, if you check your equipment, if you stay close to your buddy and you don't do something careless or stupid, it really is a safe sport. Having done over two hundred dives I've seen very few mishaps…and most of those were the result of my own carelessness.

Whether I’m diving in claustrophobic caves, or the deep, dark depths, swimming with sharks, navigating by flashlight while night diving, struggling against strong currents, swimming through shipwrecks with the ghosts of drowned sailors, enjoying a bird’s eye view of the reef below, or descending through a coral archway as shafts of blue sunlight play on the surreal landscape and the creatures who’ve allowed me share their company, diving is a portal to an amazing and alternate universe. 


"All fish, reptiles, amphibians, birds, and mammals carry within their veins the elements of sodium, potassium, and calcium in almost the same proportions as the oceans. The "sea" within us has the same saltiness as the Precambrian seas of three billion years ago. Rachel Carson, in her book The Sea Around Us, gives us a clue to our origins: "When the animals went ashore to take up life on land, they carried part of the sea in their bodies, a heritage which they passed on to their children and which even today links each land animal with its origins in the ancient sea."  :: Prentice K. Stout