Sunday, September 23, 2012

People Live Their Lives For Me On TV

by Jaclyn Shaw

When I recount the most influential songwriters of my teenage years, I think of the angelic soulful Jewel. She was beautiful, and strong willed, yet graceful. She wasn't some pervert trying to minimize my feelings... she was honest. She had a message of vulnerability for her listeners and she most unabashedly led me to the pent up emotions of my youth.
One song loops in my mind today, as I struggled to unstick my hypnotized eyes from the addictive 90210 series on the boob tube. Who will save my soul?
It's funny how songs pop up from our subconscious to remind us of what is important. When I really want to check in with my feelings about an experience, I quietly wait in stillness till I hear the incessant record player in my mind. The song that pops up usually gives me the best advice about that moment. It's magical... it really is.
As I write this, I remember the first time I discovered that people enjoyed my voice. I was at a block party with a friend, Kristen, in grammar school. She had invited my 8th grade class, with all it's personality and darkness to her neighborhood event. Amidst a population of school kids who would often leave me feeling anxious, I felt a calm as I entered a crowd of karaoke singers. Amongst that group, I recall a school bully who make a habit of making fun of female vocalists (and women in general). Before summer let out, he mocked a boy who had a Jewel CD in his backpack.
I remember the freshness and breeziness of that day. It was as if my body was on autopilot, and all my worries were being lifted and soothed by air. School had let out, and in my mind I thought, I may never see these people again. I just wanted to sing.
"Who will Save Your Soul?," was the song they handed me the microphone for. I focused on the words, and meant them. I could feel the energy of the crowd rising, just as much as the energy rose inside of me. But, I didn't want to admit it. Kristen leaned in, smiling and wide eyed, after my performance and encouraged me, saying how good my voice was.
Today, I am reminded of that glimpse of hope and enthusiasm. When people seemed to be living their lives, I would sit back and watch. I would analyze. I would judge. Lately, as analytical and pragmatic as my intelligence is, I have been craving that honesty. It seems that whatever struggle I have internalized from that grammar school experience is still present. Am I the critic or the artist? Am I the one who feels or the one who numbs?
What of the listener? Yes, it is good to be inspired. But how long must one be inspired before taking a leap into the unknown? Because what has inspired us is no use if it does not stir our souls to action... we are the keepers and dispensers of our truth.
Truth is soulless without those feelings. This day forward, I vow to get rekindle and untangle the most complex of those feelings. For the sake of my art, my soul, and my progress as a communicator.

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