OverFlow: On Authenticity, Gratitude & That Voice in My Head That Tells Me I’m Not Good Enough
It is, quite simply, the often oppressive weight of the responsibility that comes with the idea that one is an “authentic” creative—wait. Scratch that; it’s not that simple.
OverFlow is what happens when I overthink, overflow, and over-everything. When my feelings have nowhere to go, I write about them. Full disclosure: This is something I wrote on June 30, 2015. The sense of not being enough is a constant obstacle in my life. The piece below talks about my feelings as a musician, but it still holds true for me now, as a writer on Substack. I am eternally grateful that there are people who enjoy reading what I write.
Also: Please excuse these old pieces. I’m on my holiday break and don’t feel like devoting time to writing—whether it’s for work or Substack. I’ll be back on my regular grind soon enough!
As I write this, there are over a dozen songs that I have yet to work on and there are over three releases I’ve talked about publicly that are now overdue. There is no excuse, except the old and tired one: writer’s block.
Really, it’s just: 1) laziness; 2) lack of inspiration, and; 3) an unwillingness to work through 1 and 2. If my entire life so far were a song, this would be the familiar refrain. What’s worse is that there’s also: 4) the sinking feeling that the world would be better off without my creative output, or what I like to characterize as that voice in my head that tells me that I’m not good enough.
What about my creative process forces me to confront my fear of inadequacy again and again?
It is, quite simply, the often oppressive weight of the responsibility that comes with the idea that one is an “authentic” creative—wait. Scratch that; it’s not that simple.
Before we get to responsibility, let’s talk about the definition of authenticity. What makes someone a real musician? They say that “real recognize real”. Seems like a good rule, until you realize the saying could be talking about self-actualization, too; and if that’s the case, does it still hold meaning? When do you go from “fake it ‘til you make it” to “I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly”? When do you get to spread your wings and “fly abandonedly into the sun”? (Thank you, Mariah Carey, for your consistent use of vocabulary-building five-dollar words in your lyrics. You do you. If you’re not authentic, I don’t know who is.)
It’s easy to forget what you’re doing it for when you’re dealing with self-imposed deadlines and a folder of ridiculously titled works-in-progress (my personal favorites are the old reliables—“final.wav”, “finalfinal.wav” and the not-to-be-outdone “finalfinalFINALNATALAGA.wav”—though “asdfasdf.wav” is a close runner-up). Here’s a reminder, and as a bonus, it’s applicable to most things in life: it all boils down to isolating what about creating makes you happy.
For me, creation itself was the endgame.
I’m not a natural performer; it took a long time for me to be okay with not being the best performer ever, and to be okay with just being the best performer I can be. I used to take off my glasses during shows so I wouldn’t be able to see the audience, but that didn’t really help. Instead, I’ve found that what helps me is honesty. I tell people that I’m nervous, that I have a practiced spiel, that I only have one dance move. I tell people that I’m thankful for their support; that I’m happy to be able to provide 30 minutes of background music to their night out.
In that last little bit, though, I’ve recently found something beyond my usual endgame; and I think it’s what’s messing me up right now and giving the need to end this particular bout of writer’s block an extra sense of urgency.
Gratitude is a powerful emotion, and it’s what makes this time different.
The people who listen to my music are no longer nameless or faceless. I see them and talk to them every single time I get up on stage. I owe it to them to put on the best show I’m capable of giving.
Suddenly, the question of authenticity has taken a backseat. Whether or not I am “authentic” by my or anyone else’s standards, I take on the challenge of learning how to be a better performer anyway. I feel accountable just the same, and sometimes, the weight of this responsibility is even balanced out by the thrill of knowing there is (however small, still) a subset of people in the local community listening to my music because they want to listen to it.
“Not good enough!” The voice in my head is adamant.
But being “good enough” should never even have been the end goal, right? Creation is enough; gratitude and wanting to be better is a bonus.
On good days, I remember that “good enough” and “better” aren’t necessarily the same things.
On bad days, I write really long letters to myself—like this one—and hope that this tightly wound ball of emotions straightens out sooner rather than later. After all, those songs aren’t gonna write themselves, right? And there’s nothing like finishing a song to put me in a good mood, anyway. All it takes is one, and I’ll be good.
I’ll get through this eventually; but until I do: thank you, all of you…
in that special little subset. To paraphrase that famous line from As Good As It Gets, you all make me want to be a better musician—and just a better person overall, come to think of it.
Photo by manu schwendener on Unsplash
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