On doing your own thing
will I ever get dressed again?
What does it mean to lose your verve? And how do you get it back when you do?
“What did we do this week?” I say to my spouse Janyce as she walks by me carrying a second cup of coffee. It’s dark in the bedroom on Saturday morning and we’ve both been up since the sunlamp turned on and we heard the coffeepot beeping in the kitchen. I’ve already walked through the house to find my glasses, my laptop, and my cellphone and have dropped all three on the bed.
“I don’t remember,” says Janyce. “Let’s see, we took that long walk on the weekend, we went to the grocery store on Wednesday, we watched the Inauguration.”
“That’s it?” I say.
“That’s it,” she says.
I’m feeling a little unmoored since I have no shocking political news to scroll through these last few days. Bernie Sanders sitting grumpily in a chair is the most exciting thing happening on the internet, and everyone I talk to is doing some new form of self care.
“If you are not getting what you need, remove what is in your way.” I read that this week in one of the many newsletters I subscribe to. But see, here’s the problem with those pithy feel good sayings. There is a virus in the way and none of us knows how to remove it. It’s out there still and that’s precisely why I’m in the house, walking laps around my dining table every time my Fitbit tells me it’s time to get up and move again.
photo credit: https://www.facebook.com/HelloYoungLarva
An old colleague and friend has this radio show called Hello Young Larva that airs on a Brattleboro radio station twice a week. I put the recorded playlist on in the background of my computer the other day while I was working for a change of pace from my usual coffeehouse guitar. His facebook page describes the show as teen-beat/surf/psych/go-go jazz from the Cold War era and beyond. He’s a talented artist and musician and he has a day job as a designer. He’s been “doing his thing” now for many years, including hosting this radio show every week.
I have another old friend who I lost touch with over the years. He works during the day as a lawyer and he plays in a band on the side. We used to be in a writers group together, he did that too, and we’d all meet at an arts center in Brookline once a week and sit around a table free writing to the prompt and then taking turns reading our work out loud.
I know a lot of creative people. Most of them are still going about the business of finding ways to squeeze their creative selves into the open crevices of their daily lives even as the pandemic rages on. Pretty soon we’ll all be vaccinated and set free to leave the house. It’s only a matter of time, right? But will I know what to do with myself when that happens?
I was texting with a younger colleague the other day and I told him that I think somehow I may have lost some of my verve. He is a lovely person and immediately texted back, “You haven’t lost an ounce of your verve.” Although it’s now been days since he said that and I’m still thinking about the same thing.
“Do you realize Nancy Pelosi is 80 years old?” I said to Janyce while we were sitting on the couch watching the Inauguration ceremony.
“No way,” she said.
“Look at those shoes she is walking in” I said, while looking down at my own feet clad in striped socks and fleece-lined slippers up on the ottoman. I was still in my pajamas from the day before and wrapped in the wool blanket we keep on the couch. At that moment, I opened up my phone, twisted my hair into a knot at the top and took a selfie to send to my friend Dawn for her personal collection of all the worst selfies I take of myself.
What does it mean to lose your verve? And how do you get it back when you do?”
I keep looking to Janyce for the answers to these questions. She is the master at doing her own thing. Years ago, when we first met, I was attracted to the way she embraced her daily routines. I could count on her to meet me at the coffee shop at the same time every day. Inevitably, they’d be playing Frank Sinatra, piping it out on their sound system in the morning, and she would start railing on and on about how she didn’t understand the appeal of Frank, how he only talked the words, how he couldn’t really sing. Then, once we were on the train, she’d open her paper, spread it out, and would occasionally read something out loud in an outraged tone to all of us sitting opposite from her at the table. Only she wouldn’t call it outraged, she’d simply look at you quizzically and say, “What? I’m Greek.”
Janyce is actually the most positive person I know, but she also has a curmudgeon style all her own— a little like Bernie Sanders sitting in that chair, come to think of it. It’s endearing. It’s her own particular form of verve.
At almost 55, I think I’m coming to terms with the idea of doing my own thing mostly on the side like this. But I’m less okay with the way that I feel lately. Maybe getting my verve back means just taking some time to remember what it is that is uniquely mine, and then getting back to the business of doing it.
Getting out of pajamas and putting on some clothes once in a while is probably a pretty good start.