On being asked what I do… (found today in my pink notebook)

January 14, 2014

The day you start being a composer.
The day you stop second guessing yourself.

What do you do?
I’m a composer.
What do you do?

You know that rush you get,
from winning that hockey game,
from scoring that winning goal,
from winning that one ultimate debate,
your first presidential election.
Then the second rush,
from giving a speech,
and people listen.
“I had a dream”
and it was a pretty damn good one.
From watching your son catch his first baseball ball,
and daughter graduating from med school.

You’ve achieved greatness,
you’ve done great things.
People see,
people listen,
people remember.
People are proud and they approve.
The rush of being proud and approved of.
You’re an amazing human being.

I’m a composer.
It’s that rush that I strive for.
I write and I write and I write.
We go insane for months when we feel worthless and unnoticed.
Mostly because of people like you.

If I do well,
I’m noticed.
People listen,
people remember.
They approve.
Or they might not.

And then it begins.

It’s people taking the language right from your lips and putting it into the world.
It’s French.
It’s English.
It’s Spanish,
it’s Taiwanese,
it’s Japanese,
it’s frigging Italianese.
It’s you in existence outside yourself.
It’s the good you’ve done,
it’s the bad.
It’s a creation of your mind
and for that moment people care.
People listen.
People understand.
They care before judging.
Judge before loving or hating.
It’s the conviction that either way
you’re right.
Because for that moment
people cared and listened silently.
They listened.
They listened.
They listened.
I am worthy.

And before they listened,
others worked at taking your words and shaping their lips to them.
Without questioning.
Trusting your worthiness.

It’s your first driving lesson with your son.
It’s him taking his unborn child’s mother to the hospital.
It’s you having a grandson or a granddaughter.
Congratulations, it’s an extension of yourself being thrown into the world.
And you are proud.
You are proud.

I’m a composer.
I’m the story of grandiosity and greatness,
worthiness and pride.
I’m a human,
the history of flaws,
hope, compassion and impatience.

And what do you do again?


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