Resolutions

I never wrote anything for the first. I thought it still was, but at two in the morning it was obviously already the second. The days are going faster I swear. I feel like I’m fighting against the tide on this one. I was so tired all day, so numb and flaccid and spent; not ready to begin the new year with a great fuss and resolutions and all the rest if it…

I watched a film last night, only the first 10 minutes of it were part of the first day of this year. It was called Dead Man. It was made in 1995 and must have been one of the first movies to star Johnny Depp. It was such a brutal and beautiful film. I normally miss the colours, but I can see why this was filmed in black and white. I loved the landscapes and the simple and striking score by Neil Young. I spent most of my time staring at the perfectly focused minute details of Depp’s face. The stunning attention to detail, the way his face paint wore off and his beard grew out shot by shot over time, exactly as it would in real life. The shading around his eyes and eyelashes, the uncommon hollowness in his cheeks; how his eyes moved and he held his lips. It made me realise how addicted to beauty I am. I couldn’t care who he was, he is simply a brilliant actor. It’s in the way he does nothing, and says nothing, and just lets you read him. The way he lay down next to this dead fawn in the forest just about broke my heart.
It made me want to write.
It made me feel sorry that I hadn’t written anything regarding my sentiments for the year ahead.
And when I lay down in bed that night with my phone to do so I realised I had none. Did I have some last year? Some inkling about the year ahead based on the omens of the last? Some sort of innocent hope about the future? I think so. I think I had a bit of what everyone hopes for themselves in the new year; that this will be the year I keep my drive to get fit, get on top of things, get committed and go forth. And it all wears off by half way through February.
I feel last year was all about maturing as a writer, an artist. I started the blog, and kept at it, I received much valued acknowledgement and love, I began podcasting, I enjoyed English, I succeeded in visual art, I wrote five new songs, I explored the avenue of singing, I ventured into parodies and covers; and lately, unbeknownst to my readers I composed music on guitar for some lyrics and recorded something that almost sounds like a song (of course I cannot play guitar at all, but my thinking was if Josh ‘Two Chords’ Pike can produce a J-Award nominated album with two chords, I can stick a pencil in the frets where I think it sounds nice and make something half decent with one). But it was something more for myself than for broadcasting. I learnt yet more about my art, and it seems in giving up my dreams I have been working harder and more openly at them than ever. And I think through this and the positive feedback and fun I have had with my podcasts, it has enabled me to finally accept my ‘songs’ as they are. Lyrics. Poetry. I think I can do that. I can use all the expressions and accents a lot better without having to worry about the embarrassment of trying to carry a tune. I think that’s the only way those words will ever get to you. And they will. Soon.
And for Idril, on losing a dream and what that feels like… it interests me the way you look at it. I guess I have danced around it, envisaging it, looking at it, poking it, and never seeing it as you do. I admit, that probably has to do with the age difference; I have not yet begun university and you are nearing the end of it. It’s ‘what do you want to do with your life’ all over again, only this time more real. I forgot how many people have dreams, had dreams. I never thought about the hopes and desires of my classmates and the toxic world which they face; high school reunions always have a handful of successes, one rich, one happy, and one famous; and a whole host of factory or office workers. It’s sad. And as I thought about it more and more, a whole dismal saga stretched forth in front of me from here. Not for me. No, I’d almost make something out of myself just to spite people. But for so many people I see and people I know. And I realised I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.
I’d have a guess and say that around 22 is a bad time for giving up on your dreams. Once you finish university it was often the last chance you got to chase your dreams, and now that it’s over; failing the ideal of ‘making something of yourself’, there is quite a bit of parental and peer-pressure to just slow down and be financially responsible. People don’t like other people to rock the boat. They want you to settle down and be average, don’t drive a faster car than them, but don’t be so slovenly that you’re an embarrassment at dinner. How do idealistic children become corporate drones? Money has a lot to do with it. I think if we as people were less material there would be a great deal more dreams in this world. Education is expensive, travel is expensive, food, water, everything. And it boils down to: you die without money, but you can survive without your dreams. One has to do something for a job, and it’s a sad fact that in most cases art doesn’t pay. Money is a symbol of status, wealth and success; it is the yardstick by which we measure our happiness, even if it doesn’t make us happy at all. And after a few years of working hard, just when we might have enough money to go after our dreams once more; society dictates we should have children. Many have children because they love children, and remember back thinking it was the best thing they ever did. Many don’t. So later in life, between the kids and the job, some people have a mid-life crisis. This is how they deal with those failed dreams. But for the most part, they resolve themselves to the fact that they are too old for it, too old to start again. And we all know what follows.

That is probably one of my most sombre and disheartening suppositions to date. I hope it’s not all true. But there are people who make it. And as for them, it seems they are either a little selfish, and have pursued their dreams the world be damned; or they just don’t care what people think – the majority of artists. I pray that you are one of them, I pray that you make it; that we both do.
Be sure that I am both selfish and rebellious. Singing is not something I will forget; and my training isn’t something that will slip away unnoticed either. There will always be a time when I feel like singing; but it’s not something I am jealous of anymore. There will be no more dreams of handsome young rock bands composed of kids I went to school with, who made it while I withered and became bitter. I will no longer agonise over recording after recording of some stupid song I was convinced I could sing. I don’t want to be sitting at a bar one night, and someone asks me what I do, and I tell them with slurred fervour that I was a musician once, but nobody understood me. It’s not something I want to do anymore, for a job, for my thing, forever. I think I’m more than that. If it wasn’t for the blog I don’t think I’d know that. It’s not about giving up on having a dream forever; I’m just letting go of this one so I can be open to more things than it. I want to do everything. And I will. That, is what this year is about. Being open to everything; letting the negative energy flow around me and attracting good energy with good energy – being free.



☆