Showing Up
Our Presence Is Appreciated
“Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.” — Kurt Vonnegut
I knew many creative people in my teens and twenties.
They painted and sculpted, wrote poetry and fiction, played and recorded music, made films, acted, and otherwise broke their backs putting art out into the world without any reasonable expectation of reward (although the irrational pursuit of wealth and fame could certainly be a motivating factor back then).
In mid-life, I mostly know people—like me—with families, day jobs, stacks of bills, busy schedules, and largely ignored hobbies. That isn’t a judgement since we’re all just trying to thrive and survive the best we can. There honestly aren’t many “real world” incentives to remaining creative in the workaday world, which usually paints artistic adults as unserious or even childish. (I prefer “the child who survived.”)
(Side note: I’ve always liked this memetic quote, often mis-credited to Ursula K. LeGuin: “The creative adult is the child who survived.” LeGuin believes it was a misreading of this line from the 1974 essay “Why Are Americans Afraid of Dragons?”: “I believe that maturity is not an outgrowing, but a growing up: that an adult is not a dead child, but a child who survived.” I now like both quotes.)
I very rarely spoke to co-workers about music, publishing, and my other creative outlets during a long tenure in corporate America. In fact, I went to great lengths to separate those two worlds completely (hence the pen name “S.W. Lauden”).
These were the two most common questions I was asked when it did come up:
1. How do you find the time?
• My brush off response: I just cut out TV and sleep. Haha. • My internal response: How do you NOT find the time?
2. Do you make any money doing that?
• My brush off response: You think I'd be working here if I did? Haha. • My internal response: Do you make any money playing golf all weekend?
Internal Steve’s a bit of a dick. Haha.
I used to think of life or aging as metaphoric—that a person or society would ‘change’ from one thing to another, under pressure or just across time. Now I consider that life is instead sedimentary—that everything we have ever been we still are, only with more layers and variations as part of our whole. —Chris Mars, ‘7:42 P.M.’
I once had a therapist tell me to “never stop creating.”
This was almost 20 years ago and those words still echo in my brain on a daily basis. That therapist was himself an accomplished studio musician who was still writing, recording, and releasing electronic music in his 70s and beyond.
He was the perfect person to help address my substance abuse and mental health struggles, and the universe delivered him to me at just the right moment. I still use many of the tools he gave me to combat daily internal challenges and I believe his approach (coupled with twelve stepping) put me on the path to the life I have today.
His point about creativity, as I still understand it, was that self-expression is as vital to my well-being as any book, diet, or exercise regimen. That by simply dedicating myself to creativity for its own sake, I might find satisfaction and happiness.
Talk through problems with a colleague, debate a friend, or teach what you’ve just learned. Even simple things—like walking in sync or sharing a meal—create what Annie calls ‘groupiness,’ that easy sense of connection where better ideas start to flow. —
& Annie Murphy Paul, ‘How To Think More Clearly’He was totally right.
It hasn’t always been easy, but worth the effort. I’ve had many interesting and fulfilling experiences because of art, and connected with some truly talented, smart, and passionate people along the way. I’ve even learned a thing or two while toiling away in relative obscurity.
One observation is that the artistic path—at least in my experience—can be a little lonely as we age. It’s likely that not many close friends and confidants can justify the time for low/no income creative pursuits, so there are fewer people in our inner circles to share those experiences, compare notes, and commiserate. (Again, no judgement—most adults are understandably busy and develop different interests.)
At the same time, the community of people who have the energy and resources to readily support your art shrinks as well. When I was younger, we all had a lot more free time and social incentive to attend rock shows, art openings, book readings, whatever. It was a good reason to party, if nothing else.
(At this point in my life, I’m more excited about buying tickets two months in advance—but then spend the entire day of the show talking myself out of attending. Whether or not I actually show up is a total crapshoot. So it goes.)
Our daughter was recently in a high school play.
Her’s was one of three shows staged in rotation over nine days. My wife and I were there opening night to watch the small cast perform Halley Feiffer’s Moscow, Moscow, Moscow, Moscow, Moscow, Moscow in front of a sold out audience. It was great.
The next night, my daughter and I attended one of the other plays, a production of Charles L. Mee’s Big Love. This was the second performance for that show, so I expected the crowd to be smaller since it was a Monday night and most family members likely attended over the weekend.
To my surprise, it was also sold out. This time the audience was largely students, including several actors from the other plays there to cheer on their peers. It was beautiful to witness, and a great reminder about the power of simply showing up.
Our older daughter went to the same arts high school and made a similarly supportive group of creative friends. Two-plus years after graduating, they will still stop just about whatever they’re doing to help shoot short films, attend a dance recital, or otherwise continue showing up for each other. (To whit: Two of our older daughter’s closest friends showed up with flowers for our younger daughter on closing night.)
If there’s anything I miss about being young, it’s those vibrant, mutually supportive communities that ran on autopilot. I’m very lucky to still have a small circle of talented friends who are incredibly supportive of each other, but it’s a tight group these days. I also get some of that here on Substack, but there is an undeniable digital distance. (My subscribers and engagement are in free fall lately, which makes me wonder if my comfy little corner of this expanding universe is about to supernova.)
The many ways people showed up for the Altadena community after the Eaton Fire was awe-inspiring.
I’ve written at length about all of the personal support my family and I got from relatives, friends, co-worker, and many people we’d never met before. Many foundations and nonprofits grew out that devastation as well, including Altadena Musicians. I lost a lot of drum gear when our home burned down and experienced the power of what they’re doing to support local musicians.
Like many others who have benefited from those efforts, I’m doing my small part to give back and help spread the word. So, some friends and I hosted a musical instrument/gear drive for Altadena Musicians over the weekend. It took place at an intimate Pasadena record shop/venue called Healing Force of the Universe.
The bill featured talented teen singer/songwriter Layne Olivia, Eaton Fire survivors Jonathan Martin Berry and DJ Marko DeSantis, and Daniel Brummel and Jose Galvez performing acoustic songs by their longtime local band Ozma. The show sold out and we collected a new stash of musical instruments to distribute in our community.
It was an amazing Sunday afternoon with family, friends, and fellow music lovers.
“Creativity is contagious, and spending time with other artistic people allows you to absorb and exchange new ways of thinking.” —
, ‘Art Club’This year has been a great reminder about the power of simply showing up.
If you’re brave enough to continue creating into your 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s and beyond, the least I can do is be there on opening night, volunteer, or tell as many people as I can about what you’re up to.
I won’t be able to make it every time—and I won’t beat myself up for letting the realities of adult life get in the way—but I will make a little extra effort. And I’ll do my best to drag a couple friends along with me when I arrive.
I think there’s still tremendous power in that kind of mutually supportive community, no matter what stage of life we’re in. That’s how scenes are created and thrive. Creativity depends on it.
Sharing, commenting, and liking are great ways to show up in the digital world.
This is brilliant on so many levels. Thank you.
"If you’re brave enough to continue creating into your 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s and beyond, the least I can do is be there on opening night, volunteer, or tell as many people as I can about what you’re up to."
Amen! Words to live by.
This was incredibly relatable. As the floor starts (continues?) to fall out of the digital world/social media, my hope is we'll see a large-scale return to a lot of the promotion that made our teens/20s what they were. That's mostly analog, but really just means showing up for one another in whatever form works best.