It hit me, while standing with my father in the hardware department of Fred Meyers at approximately 9:46 AM on this crisp, bright Thursday morning - "I've heard this song before."
The previously mentioned song, though it is more of a ballad, is played on the store speakers, and it echoes off of the linoleum floor, which is almost entirely absent of the presence of feet (because who goes to the hardware department of Fred Meyer at this time of day?).
I have heard this ballad performed, live, by the artist who wrote it, twice.
And I have heard the story of the painful experience about which the song was written, and the emotional toll that the writing of the song took, and the peace that was brought about by the writing being completed and shared.
Now that writing, that story, that song, is being played in the hardware department of Fred Meyers at 9:46 AM on a Thursday.
The speakers of a chain grocery store are in control of someone's life experience.
Because of those speakers, every single shopper in Fred Meyer got to hear about the experience, and it's likely that no one else knew the story of the artist or of the song.
This terrified me, absolutely shook me to my core.
And here is why: everyone was free to develop their own interpretation of the song. They could mangle the words, twist them, scalp them and burn them alive, and the artist would never know. Those words could be abused or misconstrued, they could be taken out of context or laughed at. They could even be ignored.
However, this begs the question: "If it's not your song, why are you so worried about it?"
The truth is that it IS my song.
Not in the literal sense - I don't write songs, and I certainly don't sing. But if a story like the one told in the song can be written, recorded, and played on speakers at 9:46 AM in the hardware department of Fred Meyers, what does that mean for what I write? What about what YOU write, what you paint, what you do? Every concern I had about the public's interpretation of the song being played over the store speakers could be projected onto what I do.
That's what is so freeing and so scary about writing, and then sharing what you write - you have to accept the fact that people will develop their own interpretation of what you say.
When a freight train of thought like the one described above screams through your mind, all you want is cup of coffee #3. As your father selects his solid brass latch and you proceed to head to the checkout, you pass by the books and are suddenly seized by the idea that writing cheesy and sensationalistic novels about vampires would be so much easier than writing about your own life and thoughts. When you pass through the automatic doors, you question the act of using words at all - maybe you should take up interpretive dancing. Then no one could use your words against you.
When I have brief but chilling bouts with doubt about my decision to share what I write, I am reminded of something God said to me a few years ago.
He didn't write it in the clouds, he didn't use FedEx to send me a scroll, I didn't even have a prophetic dream. It was just a statement that I found tattooed on my soul one day. "Jazmin, you are a writer. Writers write."
I think that everyone has something in their life like this, something that both terrifies them and helps them overcome their terror. Something they didn't ask for and can't escape. Something they can't live without. Something that is simultaneously one of your greatest blessings and your greatest curse.
And I'd bet that the artist who wrote the song that I heard at 9:46 this morning while standing in the hardware department of Fred Meyer would feel the same way about her songs that I do about my words.
I don't know if you have found that thing yet. If you haven't, don't give up on it. If you have, run with it. Find what it is you love to do, and do it.
(I'm sorry if this blog is harder to follow than others - I suggest reading it again, slowly.)
super cool. I will have to come back to this blog post when I get my chilling doubts because I get them all the time.
ReplyDeleteWTG
YOU'RE super cool, anonymous reader!
ReplyDeleteInstead of depersonalizing written thoughts, I actually think the blank blaring of a song over a grocery store sound system, devoid of the face or story of the writer actually makes it bigger, not smaller.
ReplyDeleteYou talk of how people can take something so personal and intimate of the writer and "mangle the words, twist them, scalp them and burn them alive". I will admit that when I began to write I shared the same fears. I was afraid that the imperfect medium of language would leave gaps in my message. I was afraid that I couldn't communicate the emotion swelling in my chest, or describe to the detail the complete picture I had in my dream. It was just impossible, and I was defeated because of it. If I couldn't give you my emotions, thoughts and sensual feelings, if you couldn't see exactly what I could, if I could not give that to you, then what was the point of giving you half of a vision?
But then I realized through being a reader myself, that the exact flaw I was so concerned about was actually writing's biggest strength. What I found was that where the writer could not give me the whole story, the exact picture, what he left blank I filled in myself as the reader. And instead of depersonalizing the story or chipping away at it's effectiveness and meaning, when I fill in the blanks it becomes MORE personal and meaningful. And I friggen love that.
The idea that you could write something about say watching your child play toys and someone else can make their own experience out of it. Not only can they chose to experience your thoughts and feelings, but they may be able to relive their own memory or dream and feel emotions different than what you did. The room for interpretation allows a more intimate experience. The audience can cast their own faces and emotions which expands the meaning of your words. They aren't yours anymore, but you have given a map to someone else's treasure hunt.
It's like Shakespeare being debated hundreds of years later. So many people have read his works and seen thousands of different things from just one image, or line. People have cried and laughed, some absolutely hate his works while others fell asleep in class and even more found something wonderful and even life chagning in them. If Shakespeare was able to only project HIS thoughts, feelings, images and being through those works, do you think they would have been so culturally meaningful? I think it would have limited what was able to be accomplished and seen through them.
One man's trash is another man's treasure. One day you can write a stupid limerick just for fun and yet it can mean something poinant to someone who isn't even the creator. In their own interpretation they become part of the creation process. You may write something that ripped your soul to present and it won't mean a thing to the next person, but you may write something you absolutely hate and hundreds of people find comfort in it.
That's what I love about the written word! You create so that others can become creators themselves. You share your emotions and thoughts, not so that someone else can know how you are, but so they can find their own.
I friggen love it.