Of Sounds and Sorrows

I'm at work.

It is an un-fun time for me because I'm at work.

There are so many things that I could and would be doing if I were not at work.

My job is killing me. It was a slow thing at first, injuring a bit of my pride here, snuffing out a bit of creativity there, but nothing that I couldn't recover from. Yet, as the days, the months and the years crawled by, bigger chunks of my soul began to be extinguished. And now, as I look at the past few months I realize that entire matrices of dreams, desires and aspirations have been wiped out. Gone is the complex fantasy of major artistic accomplishment. Erased are the expectations of future musical compositions and recordings. Dead are the dreams of making a difference. And I attribute it all to this job.

I think it was when I was on a trip during my college years that I realized that as soon as you start thinking about what you've done on that trip, even if it is before you get home, the trip is basically over. The events and accomplishments of the past have become more interesting than the possibilities of the future. Similarly, when you start reliving past glories more than you strive toward new ones, you may well want to ask yourself, "What more is there to do with my life?"

With all of this held deftly in a compartment in my mind I observe the fact that I picked up a guitar several weeks ago and began playing again. I began playing music that I played 20 years ago. I played and sang songs that reflect my mindset from that period. I spent time remembering what it was like to stand on stage and play and sing. A long time ago in a land far away.

I got an email from a old bandmate of mine a few weeks ago. He was remembering the great times we had playing and mentioned the possibility of doing it again. Also, I recently found videotapes of performances from the 80s and 90s - I'm digitizing them, editing them and burning them to DVD. Again, I imagine being on stage again but occupy myself with trying to recapture times gone by.

How much am I reviewing the past and how much am I looking to the future? Has that which has come before been established as more interesting than that which is yet to come? Have my dreams been sufficiently murdered so as to preclude the possibility of a continued, ever expanding, ever enriching life? Is this what is called a "midlife crisis?"

The other day I posted 3 MP3 music files on the DEStudios website - music that I recorded in the late 80s. It's good stuff, but it's not new. Do I have new music in me still? Would anyone want to hear live music from a 47 year old who wishes he had been famous enough to even be thought of as a "has been?"

I wonder.

I wonder if it is really the job that is killing me or is it my unwillingness to take a chance and break away.

I wonder if there are new paintings in me still. I wonder if there is new music. I wonder if there is a novel still there waiting to be released.

I wonder if there is a soul mate, a lover, a partner that I'll meet before I die. Before remembering the past is the only thing that I have left to look forward to.

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Guns don't shoot people, Vice Presidents do!

©2006 Stuart Dummit