I was often almost late for school. Almost late as opposed to late because I wasn’t very good at confrontation and the thought of being asked by Mr Kettlewell to press my nose against the classroom wall, back turned to my friends was quite a daunting one. Not sure public humiliation is allowed as a form of punishment anymore. I was often nearly late because I was lining my jumper with a pair of headphones, and stuffing my puffer with a counterfeit CD collection like I was going to shop myself at a bar in Spain. For as long as I can remember I’ve been a creative. I wanted to write, play and perform. It seemed counterintuitive not to use lessons like Maths and Science to immerse myself in things that inspired my spark so I would wrestle Linkin Park into a Sony discman under the table and hope everything was panned to the right.
Apparently as I left year 2 my mum asked my teacher if she were to guess what I would do in adulthood, what it would be. She said ‘writing’. And that’s where I remained most passionate. I played the piano and guitar, wrote words and sang songs. I often chuckle to myself about one particular verse written about the Jarrow March aged 9:
“Men marching, marching, marching,
Men marching here and there,
Men crying, crying, crying,
Men crying for their town”
It actually sounds more like Baldrick than Burns.
I was a little boy with a big dream.
Yesterday I had the first real low feeling in a very long time; not sadness but self doubt. A disbelief. In my own ability, and in what others think of my work.
I’ve had a flirtatious career in the creative industry. Lots of near misses. Some strange experiences and plenty of requests for friends and family to ‘enter newest plea here’. I’ve been under no illusion that my road to Jools’ hootenanny should be laden with palm leaves however I’ve often felt there could’ve been a chance. Last night, however, i felt overwhelmed with tears watching Disney’s ‘Soul’ for the 3rd time this year. It’s Eli’s favourite – I’m not an addict. If you haven’t seen it, please do. It’s protagonist Joe is an extraordinary 40 something Jazz musician turned teacher by financial necessity. It’s a deep investigation into what makes us human and what ‘purpose’ is. For most of the film Joe believes that for life to have any meaning he must become a successful musician. Over the film he learns that his life has no singular purpose – no one’s does. And during Joe’s epiphany moment, I found myself succumbing to tears (for also, the third time).
I actually felt like I’d reached Joe’s moment of realisation a long time ago. A life isn’t measured by its measured successes, but how it’s lived. I last played my own songs at a gig in 2016, packing away the quirky pedals, not putting pen to paper, and certainly not inviting any friends to a dark room in Hackney in return for a free lift to London for the evening. Friends have gone on to ‘hottest record(s) in the world’. To prime time TV. Have become recognised authors and are the lockdown restaurant startups causing you to drool over your Instagram feeds. I couldn’t be happier, and love to be able to be the friend that still remembers the glory days of Rustington Otters or sticking to the floor of the only club in town. I found myself weeping because I still had a dream. In the same way that you dream as a child to be a fireman, not because your life depends on it. But because it’s your dream
A chasm of questions flooded my brain but two irked me the most.
How do I get there? Am I actually any good?
As we’ve landed in 2021, it feels like a lot of us have a bit of a seize the day mentality. A cocktail of wasted ‘rona time’ and January resolutions perhaps; I’d set myself the goal of striving to write professionally, in whatever form by 31st December, this year (actually after watching Soul the first time round). In ugly wording, to earn a living, predominantly from creativity. I’ve been writing daily – in song form, as a comic and as you know (because you’re reading this) in journalistic format. It’s been such a release to create again. I’ve been feeling insightful, fulfilled, and artistic. And then there comes the wall.
Since making the decision to pick up the pen, dust off the delays (they’re a guitar effect), and somewhat script my self deprecation, I’ve noticed a huge drop in social media engagement. As if the broadband box was listening, and Mark Zuckerberg was alerted that I was not merely musing. That I was an artist. Self promotion doesn’t feel very easy when you are the product. Yet in a world where content is king, and everything is a point of sale, I find myself aware of the insights.
I lay in bed, a little dejected. The algorithm had only shared a piece of work to 3% of my ‘audience’. As if the internet had decided before anyone else could, that I wasn’t good enough. My partner, defiant in the fact that wading the water of dejection was worth it, and that to dare to dream wasn’t just a road to rejection. She reminded me of the comment someone had written a few days previous thanking me for my writing and telling me how helpful it had been in relation to their own life. There are so many quotes I could land on from the David Brent school of philosophy but this is today’s take home, for myself more than for you.
“A philosopher once wrote you need three things to have a good life. One, meaningful relationships, two, a decent job of work, and three, to make a difference. And it was always that third one that stressed me, to make a difference. And I realise that I do. Every day, we all do. It’s how we interact, with our fellow man.”
And here I am, still writing. Because as self unaware as Brent is, every day alive is a day we make a difference.
When I was wondering how best to picture-pair this piece, I remembered that I keep a childhood photo in my studio of my cousin and I sat on our grandads lap immersed in his organ playing. I use it to show children that I teach where a seed of interest can lead you. Maybe tonight, it’s a reminder to myself where I’ve already been led.
Whatever walk of life you find yourselves in, I’m sure you’re going to find yourself in your own little blitz at some point. Like tiny little bombs exploding self doubt and fear of failure. When those moments happen, I dare you to ‘do it anyway’ and keep composing. I don’t want to tell you whether or not Joe ‘makes it’ as a Jazz musician because if I don’t ever end up with some kind of deal, it doesn’t mean I didn’t.
It’s Joel, actually. 