Hesitation and the Dance

I glance back at my journal entries over the last couple of weeks and find more than a handful of ideas for old and new stories I could be writing.

I seem to be entering fertile ground, but my old friend Hesitation keeps rearing his head. He is a formidable opponent, my old friend Hesitation. The commitment and concentration involved in crafting a poem, or a song, or a short story, or heaven forbid a novel, and the requisite time requirements, hold me on the precipice of action, even though I know the exhilaration of finishing the process will be worth it in the end. That’s the stranglehold that Hesitation holds on me.

Even writing this, this journal entry that will become a blog post, this act of writing about Hesitation is one more way that Hesitation snares me in his web. You see, if I am writing about not writing, then I am not writing what I want to write.

There was this girl with a perfect face and strawberry blonde hair, and I was convinced it would be interesting to kiss her or at least dance with her. The problem was I had no idea how to talk to a girl. They were a different species, an alien race, and my tongue would freeze whenever I drew any closer than 10 feet.

“What are you doing?” Hesitation whispers over my shoulder.

“What does it look like?” I say. “I’m trying to write a short story.”

Let’s say her name was Rhiannon, changed to protect innocent memory. I choose the name to disguise the fact that this took place before 1975, because no one named their children Rhiannon until there was a song.

Since she was a girl, I had no idea how to talk to Rhiannon. For all I knew, she either never noticed me or knew me as the weird kid who read comic books and sat in the corner of class. One day they announced the school would be having a dance on Friday night, and I devised a scheme: I would ask Rhiannon to accompany me on every slow dance. Surely we would think of things to say to each other and begin a romance for the ages.

“No, no, no, no, you can’t do this,” Hesitation hisses. “You must think very hard and plan carefully before you start writing, and my goodness, a story about that embarrassing night? You would humiliate yourself.”

“Relax,” I say. “I’m only doing this to illustrate how you keep me in bondage and how the only way I can break free is to sit down and start writing before you can stop me, instead of having endless conversations with you about how I should sit down and start writing.”

“Oh, thank you,” Hesitation sighs. “I was quite alarmed there for a minute.”

“On the other hand,” I admit, “I’m still embarrassed about making a fool of myself that night, more than 60 years ago, and so it might be terrific fodder for a sweet, heartfelt and entertaining story.”

“Don’t you dare,” Hesitation barks. “I absolutely forbid it, do you understand?”

Rhiannon was standing with a group of other girls, and as the strains of the first slow song began to emerge from the record players, I gathered up the courage to walk up to her and ask her to dance. She may have rolled her eyes a bit, but she acquiesced, and as we walked to the dance floor, I began to sweat as I realized I still had no idea what to say to her.  This might be the first of a half-dozen silent and awkward trips around the room together. Still, it was nice to feel her warm hand in mine and to press my hand gently against the small of her back.

Even as we make our first turn, somewhere in the background I hear Hesitation screaming at me through the years.

Watching for wonder

When I can hardly bring myself to face the day, I start looking for wonderful things to happen.

I didn’t use to be that way, of course. If I really didn’t want to go somewhere, or I didn’t feel like diving into an obligation, I would stay home, or I would defer the task. If I felt like I couldn’t face the day, I wouldn’t face the day.

Then I started noticing a trend about those days that I faced anyway — the days when I didn’t want to go somewhere, but I went, or went through with something I didn’t want to do: More often than not, something unexpectedly cool happened.

I would meet an old friend I had not seen in a long time. The pastor would preach on a topic that spoke straight to my heart. That project I was skeptical about would turn out just fine, maybe even earn an accolade or two. Oh, and you’ve heard me talk about a woman, Mary, who gave me a hug after church one day and soon after lifted me out of my grief? Oh man, I really didn’t want to go to church that morning!

There is a force in this world that makes us lie to ourselves — I don’t mind calling it Satan, the Father of Lies — and when we’re about to have an amazing experience that may even change our lives, it whispers to us: “I really don’t feel like doing this, I really don’t want to go there, I really don’t want to be here …”

It happened enough times that now I recognize the symptoms, and when I find myself really not wanting to, my attitude adjusts almost instantly and I start anticipating something wonderful. Maybe my life doesn’t change dramatically, but I’m glad I faced the day and went through with it, every time.

Yes, here we are, another Monday. I suspect I know how you feel; we’ve all been there. I’m here to tell you that if you feel like you can’t face what this day has in store for you, this day may have something incredibly grand in store for you.

This is living

I have set up my stereo set in the living room like my father did. On Saturday mornings Dad would celebrate the beginning of his weekend by cranking up big band music, sometimes before his three boys had crawled out of their beds. Believe it or not, it is a fond memory.

This Saturday morning, while I fiddled on my laptop, I put Artie Shaw on the turntable, specifically The Complete Artie Shaw, Volume IV: 1940-1941, a two-record set from Bluebird Records.

I think my dad was aghast when I confessed one day that I thought Shaw was better than Benny Goodman, whose music I heard on many a Saturday morning growing up. I am no judge of which man was better on the clarinet, but I thought Shaw was more adventurous, as when he incorporated harpsichord on Gramercy Five recordings like “Cross Your Heart,” the first track on this album.

This particular album covers studio sessions in chronological order from September 1940 to March 1941. I found myself once again marveling at the technology that enables me to time-travel and listen in on performances from more than 85 years ago.

The set includes Shaw’s version of “Moonglow,” the song that was playing when Dad proposed to the girl who would become my mother a few years later. I’m pretty sure they were listening to Benny’s take on the song.

It was a very long time before I discovered that “Moonglow” actually has lyrics, as none of the versions I’d ever heard included singers. “It must have been moon glow that led me straight to you … I still hear you saying, ‘Dear one, hold me fast,’ and I start in praying, Dear Lord, please let this last.” That’s an appropriate song for a marriage proposal.

I have no special message to share today, other than life is better with music, Artie Shaw was a remarkable talent, I’m glad I kept my records, and my parents were always a cute couple. That’s probably enough.