I wish I could write songs. Also, I wish I were an actor and a dancer and a sculptor. And maybe a gourmet chef. But I am trying to be a writer. I squeeze in some drawing, painting, cooking, and baking. I’m trying to learn how to crochet and knit. But mainly, I work at being a writer.
Songs, though … Words combine with music, and my heart responds in ways it never would to words alone. Last Thursday I got to hear the final mixes of the 5 songs on Valhalla Hill’s forthcoming EP. It always amazes me when my own friends and family members create art that makes my heart soar. Listening to those songs, I thought, “I wish I could do this.” I found myself discouraged by the talents I lack, wishing I could trade for someone else’s talent, maybe.
But when we got to the fourth track on the EP – the title track, “Go With What You Got” – my envy turned to inspiration. “Can’t you see it’s not about the things you don’t have now?” Of course. My responsibility is to use what I have to do what I can. (Way to inspire, Joey!) I may never be able to write a song, but I can work at writing and drawing to the best of my ability. I can push through writer’s block and distraction to create something good. And if I fail … at least I will have tried.
After listening to all the songs a couple times, we headed home. A line from T.S. Eliot kept running through my head:
For us there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.
The line is from “East Coker,” one of Eliots Four Quartets. Here’s a bit more for you:
So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years—
Twenty years largely wasted, the years of l’entre deux guerres
Trying to use words, and every attempt
Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer
By strength and submission, has already been discovered
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope
To emulate—but there is no competition—
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.
I’m thankful for all my friends who try. For everyone who uses their art to “raid the inarticulate,” to express what seems inexpressible. It’s not easy, I know, and I am so grateful that you do it.
By the way, if you want to hear the songs I’m talking about, you should come to Valhalla Hill’s CD release show at the Q Café in Ballard (Seattle) on February 13th. You need to hear what Rory, Joey, Isaac, and Jeremy have been up to. It’s good stuff.
[...] for a poem, or I read a poem that conjures up an image that I want to draw or paint. Other times, I notice a friend exercising their creativity, and I think, “They’re being creative; why can’t I?” Whatever your creative medium, I hope [...]