the work

I have no idea what other people think about.
I walked around Manhattan today and looked at people's faces, trying to gain some insight into what their minds might be doing.  Outside of the occasional verbose lunatic, I got nothing.
Me?
I think about work.
All the time.

I'm up here in New York for a job.  Some folks might consider their jobs to be their work.  Not me; It's just a job.  I show up somewhere, the tasks are outlined, and I carry out my due diligence.  It's how I pay for my home, car, cat food, cupcakes and high heels.  But mostly (to borrow a phrase from a dear friend), it "funds the dream".  Ah, yes.  The Dream, my darlings, is my work.
I don't have kids.  I don't buy nice clothing.  I don't own every gadget that Apple makes.  I have work.  For the time being, these things are mutually exclusive.  When you're the mind, body, machine and heart behind what you do, that other stuff stays out of reach.  Way out of reach.

I'm blue these days, and I just admitted it to myself.  I've been in a bit of a post-album-release haze, and couldn't put my finger on what the true matter was.  But, after a closer look, I see that for the first time in years, I'm without the drive of a deadline or production schedule.  My last project's creation spanned three years, and within that time, I birthed two other bastard projects.  That's a lot of songs, and a lot of listening to your own voice (and some other voices you may or may not ever need to hear again).  All three ventures were crash courses in awareness and humility, in their individual ways.  With my own record, Family Album, I had to readjust my expectations about every four minutes, the entire way.  People bowed out, other people jumped aboard, we changed our minds about songs, someone played steel drums... It was mayhem.  Beautiful mayhem, but mayhem just the same.  Still, the biggest lesson that came from that, was that I have everything I need within me.  I didn't know that before I was forced to prove it.  It's been powerful information to have, and it's a truth that gets challenged on a daily basis, let me assure you.  The other two projects (which, in my mind, are jailed up in a music orphanage somewhere), taught me that there is absolutely nada that I can do about anyone else.  Ever.  Don't worry, I'll forget that and have to learn it again.  I promise.

Day in and out, my brain hears music.  I work on my songs, and imagine the greater contexts that will support them, which ultimately become albums.  I visualize the imagery that might precede the music, giving the audience something to attach themselves to: A face, or a location of significance.  I think about why some people matter so much, and admire their fierce bravery and strength of will.  I wonder if the risks that they took were optional in their minds, or if they were just givens, written in invisible stone.  Was Amelia Earhart ever afraid that she would fail?  Did Sylvia Plath know that her story would give women like me a path to walk down in her wake?  Was Frida Khalo even concerned that anyone else saw her work, or was it just her way of marking the days?  These women have taught me, and I'm a grateful student of their very trajectories.  They lend me courage when my own reaches an unimaginable low.

We defeat ourselves, you know.  We have all kinds of grand reasons why We Can't.  We build elaborate moats around ourselves that would take a genius to navigate the trenches of, in order to safely reach the other side.  We're master security technicians.  The smarter you are, the better suited you are for the job.
I, Buick Audra, admit to having said at least three, if not all, of the following things:

1.  I can't afford to ___________________________.
2.  I don't know how to ___________________________.
3.  No one ever helps me with ___________________________.
4.  In order to ________________, I need to buy or steal ____________________.
5.  I never have time to ___________________________.

Doesn't that look awful?  I'm a bit beyond the pale just seeing it in print, myself.
The absolutely horrifying truth is that some of them are still true.  I'm here, on someone else's (very nice) computer feeling sad about my weird life that involves both a Job and Work.  I feel envious that some folks get to bypass the Job part of that equation and just create freely.  I feel freaked out that I missed the imaginary boat to Awesomeland, and it may not come this way again.  I'm mad at all kinds of elders for what they did and didn't teach me.  I hate Coldplay.  (That last one's irrelevant, but also true.)  But, seriously: How soon is now, Johnny Marr?

I read some literature this morning that is intended to soothe the souls of people like me.  Instead, I looked at the words, and saw: Permission To Fail.  It was right there on the page.  It talked about surrendering our own will and replacing it with a faith that basically everything will be as it should, and that all will be fine and lovely.  The part that truly sent me to the mattresses was a bit about how the setting and achieving of our own goals may not give us what we ultimately need in this lifetime.  Listen, I know that I'm supposed to slather on a bunch of Trust, and just feel peaceful in knowing that no matter what I bust ass to accomplish, it's out of my hands... But you know what?  I think that sucks.  There has to be a middle ground, kids.  There has to be room for an honest belief that our lives are going to land where they will, but also that we can take actions to further our causes.  Actions that will matter.  Actions that won't be in vain, only to be swept away by some god, or the universe or Divine... All under the heading of Getting What We Need Instead Of What We Want/Live For.  I want a meeting with that committee.  I'll gladly go ahead and shake hands with Divine, Freddie Mercury and whoever else holds a seat, and represent the mere mortals who have actual dreams.  Sign me up.

Call me stubborn, call me sick; I still believe in trying.  Yes, I'm tired.  Yes, I wish I knew how better to get my art out in to the world beyond my twelve friends and two family members.  I don't yet.  But, I'm going to sleep on it tonight, and tomorrow, maybe the literature will hold something a little bit more inspiring to draw from.  Maybe my fear of music managers will evaporate and I'll meet just the person to help me do this.  Maybe not.  I want to be extraordinary.  Not famous, not rich, but extraordinary.  I want my life to matter.  I want for some girl to sit with my words, fifty years from now, with this same ache in her heart.  Because this kind of ache can only breed one thing: work.

Thanks for listening.
xo, buick audra

"Gotta do what you can just to keep your love alive, 
trying not to confuse it with what you do to survive..."
~Jackson Browne