That Thing You Do

 That thing you do - you know that thing you love, that thing you're so passionate about, that thing that defines you - why do you do it? What purpose does it serve? Is it a mean to an end or is it something deeper? 

I've always been a creative sort. Could well be genetic. My mum was an artist and musician. Dad could sketch well when/if he chose to. He had musical aptitude, but more in the sense of learning other people's music. I'm not sure if he ever had an original musical thought; but that's OK. Art and music weren't his passions. 

I've always known that I wanted to work in the arts. As long as I can remember, that was my goal. As a kid, I wanted to be my generation's Vincent Price - until I had the chance to work in a few films. BORING! Hours and hours of standing around while the real stars of the show, the tech crews, made everything happen. I became interested in cameras and photography thanks to these uncredited legends. I'd ask questions, and when they could, they'd take the time to answer and give me suggestions. Dad was not particularly supportive of much in the way of his children's career choices. Unless we wanted to follow him into medicine (which one of my brothers did), he always found ways to belittle and undermine our goals. The one thing he couldn't stop was my love of music. He found that out when I was 15. I'd gotten into some major trouble at school; major enough that I was expelled. I was supposed to be grounded while he figured out just what the hell to do with me (after the courts decided what I would be doing and where). I had no issue with staying home. We had cable TV. All of my books and guitars were there. But I'd recently started playing with a band. That had become a priority. One day, dad was driving to see patients at one of the local hospitals. As he was driving down the street, he saw me walking along, a guitar in each hand. He screeched over to the curb and hollered, "Just where the hell do you think you're going???" My answer was simple: "I have things to do." I kept walking and left him speechless.

I never had any goals to be 'rich and famous'. By 15 I already knew better. A weird, short kid from Ohio with an ethnic surname was unlikely to top the charts...especially as I've never been a fan of popular music. It was 1981 and I mostly listened to blues and punk rock. I also enjoyed classical music, Japanese koto music, and a lot of Eastern European folk music. My then unknown family heritage had a lot to do with that, but I digress.

I made music because it was in me (and it had to come out, as the old song goes). At its most base level, music is a form of communication. As a kid, I had multiple speech impediments. I stammered like a Tommy gun and had a helluva saying my R's. My parents figured I might outgrow it (because that was the cheaper route). The school had other ideas, so I was set up with a speech therapist. For years I drove that poor woman crazy. The R's finally came together after some orthodontal work, but the stammer continued. My brain worked faster than my mouth could keep up. One of the problems of having a so-called "genius" IQ (and yes, I was tested multiple times). The stammer continued until my freshman year of high school, and I discovered amphetamines. I'll never forget it. I was supposed to recite a poem we'd memorized in German class. Our teacher, Mr. Milo, was probably dreading me stammering my way through a second language. Surprise Surprise! The speed pills worked a little bit of chemical magic and when it was my turn, I zipped through Hänschen klein like a native speaker. The look on Mr. Milo's face was pure delight! Little did he know that I was also enjoying being able to feel every hair follicle on my head and really wanted nothing more than to run up and down the street a few times. Amphetamines, Mt. Dew, and later cocaine became a way of life off and on for decades. The weird part, I rarely ever used stimulants when I played music. They got in the way of my communicating through music.

In high school, I showed an aptitude for languages. English was easy. German also came easy, but that was due in part to hearing some of my older relatives speaking it. French wasn't difficult, I've just always thought it sounds a bit too soft. I joke that it's cruel to its consonants. I would pick up bits of Italian from neighbors and friends' family members. I would occasionally look at my best friend's Spanish textbook and pick out words and phrases. I also excelled in writing, especially creative writing. It was just more communication. Had I thought that linguistics was a potential career path, I might have gone in that direction - but I'm sure dad would have found a way to shoot that down too. By age 16, I was gigging regularly. I always worked. It's just how I was raised. I had my first full-time job at 15 (Dad wasn't going to let me just sit around the house while under expulsion from school). I liked working and I liked having my own money. In winter, I could easily make $75-80 a day shoveling snow. That's roughly $300 a day now. I did farm work, roofing, construction, plus bar gigs. I'd put some away and blow the rest (when I could successfully hide it at home). When I dropped out of college the first time and was kicked out of the house, I was homeless for a little while but ended up on my feet pretty quickly (gaining control of my bank account is a story for another day).  

I'd had it in my head that I would become a behavioral psychologist. I knew that people communicated in lots of nonverbal ways, I wanted to become an 'expert' on the subject. But I was too busy communicating musically. I always worked though. I'd read enough about the old blues guys - most of them were farmers, day laborers, truck drivers etc. Some of my jazz faves worked as sign painters while they recorded their classics. At one point, I found myself training as a chef and took a part-time job cooking at a nursing home. While the residents seemed to enjoy my cooking, they also enjoyed that I would spend time with them, just talking, or playing guitar for them. More forms of communication! 

Around this time, I was offered a recording contract. I was smart enough to read it before signing it. I knew a local judge who helped me with some of the legalese. I also paid attention when he said he wouldn't sign it. To date, I've been offered a handful of contracts and never signed any of them. Like I said, fame and fortune were of no interest to me.

I kept gigging until I was 24. I had dropped out of college twice by this point, almost got married, and saw how wild life can be. I took lots of not-very-well-thought-out chances and ended up back in Pittsburgh. I had planned to get out of music. (I can hear some folks laughing at this) I'd sent out about 50 resumes and received about 25 job offers working in the mental health field. Life was pretty good. Then music pulled me back in. I spent the next few decades working, gigging, recording, and touring. I always had a day job too. Whatever skills I have as a musician were being recognized globally, and I got to tour the UK, Europe, and Australia, as well as all over the US (with a few sneaky trips into Canada and Mexico). No matter what my day job was, I was considered, by most, to be a musician. I guess I still am.

But I'm also a writer. I was first published at age 15. A few years later, I wrote for some underground newspapers, fanzines, etc. In my late 30s, I had a regular feature column in a magazine, and also wrote freelance reviews, articles, and stories/essays. I've recently taken up the study of the Bulgarian language (which shares similarities with a few other languages, so it makes watching the news a bit more interesting). I've written hundreds of songs, and one day - centuries from now, I'll probably be discovered by some nerdy academic in the files of the Library of Congress. 

I've made lots of money, I've been broke and homeless, and everything in between. Communication, in its many forms, is the thing I do. I no longer limit it to just music, or writing, or speaking. I communicate through photography as well. I'm writing my first full-length fiction novel. I have had, and will always have, undying respect for anyone who can communicate in multiple languages and formats. For years, I was considered somewhat of an expert on nonverbal communication. Not just sign language (which I seem to have lost any real skill at) but at learning to read the behaviors of individuals who can't communicate in conventional methods. It's part of that thing I do.

So how about you? What's that thing you do? Are you making the time for it? Know your reasons and just do it. Don't worry about what anyone else thinks. Just do it. If it means something to you, it's worth it.