Category: Music

Another Ounce of Clarity

Learning to appreciate the impact we have on others

A few weeks ago, I was scrolling through Netflix and decided to watch a new documentary about Noah Kahan, a musician I was only vaguely familiar with.

About halfway through the film, Kahan is alone in a dressing room before the first of two sold-out shows at Fenway Park in Boston, warming up on his guitar, when a teenage girl and her father are brought in. 

She’s frail, and it’s clear that she’s gravely ill; her father tells the musician they are on a “bucket list trip.” 

As Kahan absorbs the meaning of that, the young woman tells him how important he’s been to her.

“You’ve gotten me through a lot of my treatment,” she tells him. “Whenever I’m anxious, or nauseous, or sad, or happy, I listen to your music.”

He seems taken aback and deflects the compliment, but also shares that he’s honored and happy to have helped in any way. 

He asks if she has a favorite song, then plays it for her. She sits weeping at the beginning, but eventually starts singing along, and breaks into a big smile as she looks back at her dad, who is taking photos.

When the song is over, he gives her a big hug and smiles with her for pictures.

My first thought as I watched this scene was that Noah Kahan had no idea what an enormous impact he’d had on this young fan. 

The moment was striking, especially as I watched the rest of the film, because it’s obvious that he has labored over trying to feel better about himself and the way he looks.

When he’s getting prepared by a makeup artist for a press day and is staying silent to save his voice, he writes things like “I have a face for radio,” and “they’re putting lipstick on a cow.”

He later says he’s always felt “physically ugly, facially ugly, mentally ugly.”

Watching thousands of people sing along with him at his concerts and seeing how much they enjoy his show made it clear to me that there was an enormous disconnect between his self-image and how others see him. 

The film also shows an event for the Busyhead Project, a nonprofit Kahan started that promotes access to mental health services, especially in rural areas. The organization works to reduce the stigma around seeking treatment for mental health. 

This young man, who is 27 at the time of filming, has already brought so much good into the world, but is almost blind to the positive effect he’s had on others.

It reminded me of a reel I saw on Instagram last year entitled “Your impact on others is greater than you’ll ever know.” 

One of the greatest tragedies in life
is that you will always be loved 
more than you will ever know

Someone on the street loves your smile
and it brightens their path 
for the next few blocks

Someone you used to be friends with
still wishes to fondly call your name

Someone who regularly comes into work
is disappointed when you aren’t there to brighten their day

Someone missed you today

Someone noticed when you were gone

Someone loves you when you’re there

Someone loves you 
when you’re nowhere to be found at all

You may think you have always disappeared
when you’re no longer in the picture

But you’ve never left the frame

A day or two after I saw the Noah Kahan documentary, I happened across something else that seemed to drive home a similar message.

Emily Saliers and Amy Ray during their social media announcement

I watched an announcement on Facebook by the Indigo Girls, one of my all-time favorite bands. I’ve seen them in concert more times than I can count over the last 35 years. 

One of the two singers, Emily Saliers, has had a noticeable quiver in her voice during the last several shows I’ve been to. The band’s announcement addressed that. Saliers shared that she has been diagnosed with two incurable voice conditions (she called them “movement disorders”). 

At one point during their announcement, she got very emotional as she explained that her voice would never be what it once was. Her bandmate, Amy Ray, also got emotional when sharing that they didn’t want to stop touring. 

“I just hope that you can have some grace with my struggles for this particular touring year,” Emily said. “We’re going to work hard to make it good, and then whatever the future holds, we’ll see. But … we want to bring you the best show that we possibly can.”

I didn’t read all 10,000+ comments on the post, but many of the ones I did read echoed what I was feeling after listening to their announcement.

I thought about how their music has been part of my life for decades, how it served as an important backdrop during the years when I was coming out and afterward, and how a vocal flaw one of the singers now has would never change that. 

Singing “Closer to Fine” at a post-graduation lunch for my college roommates and our families

I loved their music from the moment I first heard it in 1989. I used to play and sing their first hit, “Closer to Fine,” when I was a senior in college, occasionally joining a couple of musicians I was friends with onstage at local bars to sing it.

As I got older, the Indigo Girls’ identity as “out” lesbians became important to me as well.

I went through an extended period where I was trying to figure out whether or not I was gay. Someone who was trying to help me solve the mystery suggested seeing how I felt the next time I went to an Indigo Girls concert. 

As I looked around at all of the openly gay people at the show, I felt uncomfortable … and then mistook that discomfort as a sign that I wasn’t gay. In hindsight, I was just terribly unsettled at the thought of how coming out would flip my world upside down. Wrong barometer!

Later, when I came to my senses and came out, I made it an annual summer event to see the Indigo Girls play live at a nearby outdoor venue. The atmosphere always felt welcoming; it was a place where I could finally feel comfortable in my own skin.

As I listened to their announcement, I was sad that Amy and Emily (I refer to them as if they’re close personal friends) felt they needed to ask their fans for grace. 

Like Noah Kahan, who has brought so much joy and comfort to others through his music and his willingness to be open and authentic, they seemed unaware of the profound impact they’ve had.

There are reasons all three musicians might not be able to fully appreciate their accomplishments. Kahan has described his struggles with depression and anxiety as an ongoing journey, and the Indigo Girls are understandably concerned about the significant vocal issue Emily now faces. 

But it seemed to me, in the days after I watched the movie and the announcement, what a shame it was that these individuals were so focused on what they lacked. 

And it occurred to me that this idea applies to me too.

Very few of us are like these three rock stars, with thousands of people screaming along to our songs, but many of us also focus on all the ways in which we’re inadequate. I know I do.

I’ve been a public school teacher for three decades, and now I’m doing some public-facing writing. I’ve generally been very critical of myself in both arenas, hoping my work has had a positive impact but fearing it hasn’t.  

If I were friends with Noah Kahan and the Indigo Girls, I would encourage them to spend less time focusing on things like weight, looks, and sounding perfect, and more time appreciating any good they’ve been able to bring into the world. 

And then I might try to follow my own advice.

And Now for Something Completely Different

What would you do if fear weren’t involved?

This was the question my friend posed as we sat in her car last year mulling over what I should do about a particular situation that involved putting myself out there.

When I allowed myself to disconnect from the fear of rejection, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.  Although things did not end up working out as I had hoped, I was glad that I had taken a chance.

Many of the most rewarding experiences I recall have involved pursuing things I wanted that first required me to break through a wall of fear. I am always hesitant to leave my comfort zone, but have found that when I have moved past a gnawing fear of failure, I have never regretted it, even when the outcome is different than what I had envisioned.

A recent example of this was when I decided to take up the drums — at age 46. 

Like many kids in the 70s, I played a variety of instruments in grade school: piano (until I got kicked out of lessons in 2nd grade due to insolence), violin (because I was told in 3rd grade that my hands were too small to play the instrument I really wanted to play — the guitar), saxophone (can you say Pink Panther?), clarinet (so squeaky!), and finally, guitar.

I love playing the guitar and still play today.  Some of my fondest memories have involved getting together to play and sing with other people.

I have always been fascinated with the drums, though never asked to play when I was in school. The drums have a different meaning; they are less a collaborative instrument that brings people together (Kumbaya!) and more of a middle finger to convention.  In my mind, there is something viscerally appealing about the rebellion associated with drummers and drum sets.  I have wanted to play drums for as long as I can remember.

But starting to play in middle age, as a woman?  What would people think?  I am a person who takes comfort in belonging to the herd, so the thought of invoking sneers from some in my herd was enough to give me pause.

Aside from the fact that the Stepford wives in my neighborhood might look askance at female drummers, honestly, there are so few to be found in popular culture.  Only five women appear on Rolling Stone’s list of 100 Greatest Drummers of All Time, and I only recognize one.

I have to credit my former mate with giving me the push I needed to move from thinking about it to actually doing it.  I mentioned in passing that I had always wanted to play the drums, but said I was too old and it would look weird.  She pointed out the distortion in my worldview and strongly encouraged me to start.

I thought about it and decided to follow her advice. 

I began by taking lessons with a local guy who was a drummer with a number of well-known rock bands back in the day.  He was very good at teaching the basics, and over the year that I worked that with him, I saw that he had an eclectic group of students.

My first teacher

The client whose lesson was often right before mine was probably in kindergarten.  He had a pushy mom and was actually quite good, though I could often hear the teacher redirecting him when his five-year-old attention span was growing thin.  Who could blame the kid for wanting to get back to his T-Rex building set instead of continuing to slog through rudiments?

The guy whose lesson was right after mine was a burly, rough and tumble 40-something who seemed to be dying to fist bump me as we passed each other in the hallway every week.  We usually had a little chuckle when we saw each other, like, “Heh, heh … we’re both old people taking beginner drum lessons!”

Last summer I took lessons with another extremely talented drummer, a guy I had followed on Instagram.  He was very sweet; he was also probably more than 20 years younger than me. Working with him was a lot like driving a Mercedes the second time you’re behind the wheel.

My second teacher

Being a novice at my age has required a little humility.  I have gotten more than one curious look as I have walked in for a lesson with drumsticks in hand or mentioned to someone that I have started playing the drums. 

The payoff is that I get to do something I love.  One of my favorite things to do in my free time is to put on headphones and smash away to songs like “Highway to Hell,”  “Comfort Eagle,” or “Come Together.” There is just something so fun about leaving the realm of the suburbs and acting like a member of AC/DC for a half hour.

In the movie A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, Fred Rogers talks about “positive ways to deal with your feelings” and recommends pounding on the low notes of the keyboard as a harmless, healthy way to blow off steam.  I’m not sure those living with and/or near me appreciate the Mr. Rogers approach to anger management.

There is definitely a case of role reversal going on with my son.  In my house, it’s the teenage boy who is shouting from another room, “Can you take it down a peg?” To be fair, it is ridiculously loud, thought I actually think more parents forced to tolerate their teens’ grating behavior on a daily basis should try this. (“Oh really??  You don’t feel like emptying the dishwasher? I just remembered I forgot to practice today!”)

My son isn’t the only person who detests the racket.  My next door neighbor gave me a tight smile one day and said, “Sue!  You’re getting better at the drums!”  I had to give her points on her passive aggressive ploy.  Then again, my drum set is right up against the part of my house that borders her dining room. 

Noise pollution notwithstanding, I always feel better when I have had some time to practice and disconnect from whatever stresses I have going on.  Things are clearer when I come back.  As with any hobby that provides an escape from everyday life, I am a better person afterwards.

A 51-year-old and her drums

And at the risk of sounding like Jack Handey, it’s good for the soul during a life stage when many people feel stuck.  After all, middle-aged men buy red sports cars to feel more alive; lesbians buy navy blue drum sets.

I won’t be appearing on any Rolling Stone lists anytime soon. I can keep a beat but haven’t spent enough time practicing the fundamentals to be particularly skilled. If I were 15, I might try to get some people together to hack away in a garage band. (My age confers certain benefits though, like actually owning a garage.) Who knows. Perhaps that’s still somewhere in my future.

I recently saw a little clip of Anna Wintour advising people to “own who you are, without apology,” and I think this is wise counsel.  I may not be the next John Bonham, but throwing appearances to the wind has allowed me to add a layer of enrichment to my life.