Issue #44
“Every life is in many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but always meeting ourselves.”
-James Joyce, Ulysses
1997
I arrive with my Icee and Sweetarts and make my way toward a seat, choosing a spot not too close to the stage and not too far back. The other people in the room are in their 20’s and 30’s and they all look like they came with me from the theater department at my college—there’s a plethora of tattoos and dyed hair and a group smoking in the parking lot. The musicians launch into a fast-paced song and the church service begins.
I’m here because it’s the only church that doesn’t require me to get up early on a Sunday. I’m here because my best friend goes to this church, too. And I’m here because I love Jesus and so does this room full of misfits. All of those reasons are true. But the truest reason is standing on the stage with long blond hair, he’s the cute guy playing the keyboard and I can’t focus on anything but him.
2023
His hair is short now with a touch of gray at the temples. Over the past twenty-four years of our marriage he’s rarely picked up a musical instrument even though (or maybe because) we live in Nashville, aka “Music City”.
But something buried deep is emerging before my eyes. He starts playing guitar again. I watch him build up his calluses so his fingers can withstand the pressure of the strings but I know he’s also building up courage.
The courage and the music have been hidden inside of him like a bulb buried under the packed earth but now they are pushing their way to the surface. He works tirelessly to prepare for his first time playing at our church. Nashville is not the easiest place to rediscover one’s musical skills because almost everyone who volunteers for a worship team is an aspiring or accomplished musician.
The first time he plays at church he stands in the shadows behind the rest of the group, his head tucked, taking up the smallest space. I can tell he’s nervous but as he gets up onstage a second and third time it’s like watching a missing appendage grow back again. No one can tell that he is quietly finding a part of himself that I haven’t seen since the early days of falling for him while I slurped my Icee.
After a Few Sessions at Church
Courage is beginning to win out over the nerves.
“I volunteered to play keys next week,” he tells me.
“But we don’t have a piano and we gave away our keyboard.” (And you’ve barely played keys at all over the years, not even a few times like the guitar—but I don’t say it out loud).
He reminds me that he has a music keyboard that connects to his computer. Sure it’s a keyboard more proportional to a cat, but he seems unfazed.
I marvel at his posture of courage.
I keep thinking about the phrase—you can’t teach an old dog new tricks—except I changed it to—you CAN teach an old dog, OLD tricks. (No, babe, I’m not calling you old).
Courage is Contagious
My husband doesn’t know yet that I’ve been writing about his musical journey for this week’s newsletter. While I worked on the first part of this draft I could hear him playing guitar in his office. Sunday worship was over for the week so the time was just for him. He was playing for the joy of doing the thing, something that reminded me of the pleasure I experience when I have a paintbrush in my hand or when the words click together just right.
Separately my husband and I have been excavating the buried parts of ourselves this year. We’ve been allowing those parts to be seen by the rest of the world and at times it’s felt like standing naked in the middle of the street (at least for me, you’d have to ask him if he’s felt the same way).
In the twelve months since starting this newsletter, when the fear of not being good enough as a writer or an artist has gotten annoyingly loud, I’ve been able to glance over at my husband.
If he can do it, I can do it, I tell myself. We’re just two old dogs learning old tricks.
Continue the Creative Journey
”We’re led to believe that we have to be good at something before we make it public, to do the learning in private in order to avoid looking foolish or risk failure in front of an audience.”
-Charlene Storey
If you’d like to support the writing and art that I create for this newsletter, you can now contribute to my art supply fund through “Buy me a Coffee”!
Blessings from the Guest Nest,
-Aimee
P.S.—Who has inspired your courage and/or your creative journey this year? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.
I think you've inspired both my courage and creativity this year. I've also found myself inspired by the medieval female mystics like Hildegard of Bingen, Mechthild of Magdeburg and Julian of Norwich - odd, but I'm following the rabbit trail nonetheless.
Jonathan Rogers said this in a newsletter a while ago called “Good Bad Art and Bad Bad Art.” It’s definitely worth a read. Anyways, the quote goes as such: “We make bad art, but we don't settle for bad art. All of which means we have to leave room for grace.”
I only recently started following your newsletter, but it has been such an encouragement to me, and I thank you for that. The world is so full of good and beautiful things.