Making it Up

Jason Mraz at the Bijou Theater.

Brent and I went to see Jason Mraz at the historic Bijou Theater in Knoxville last weekend. Just a singer and his guitar for two and a half hours. Beautiful simplicity. He was playing old songs that had been requested, as well as many new, unreleased songs. The lyrics of his new work really resonate with me in my present life. He sings of his life as a work in progress and about a world he hopes to live in rather than the reality we are experiencing. At one point during the concert, Mraz mentioned that he writes songs to heal himself, and along the way maybe it will help someone else too. The writing teacher in me was thrilled. Tell your story well and your audience will make their own connections.

I have found great comfort in writing for myself. I once heard Ben Marcus, a celebrated author, say that he can only write something he would want to read. It is that simple. He can’t write to make everyone else happy, but he knows what he would like to read. This way of thinking works for me. When I joined a writing group the thought of creating some masterpiece that anyone else would ever want to read was unimaginable. But I knew I wanted to write for me. I knew that taking time to write meant taking time to think and process.  Then I read Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert, and I knew I also wanted to be creative with my voice. Recently, I have come to see the possibility of marrying the two ideas. I can be creative and write for myself, and just maybe it will help someone else along the way.

A couple of weeks ago, a neighbor of mine “liked” a post I made on Instagram. I had not seen or talked to her in a couple of years; our children no longer attend the same school, so I clicked on her page to see how she was doing. I was struck by the absolute beauty of her pictures. How does she do it? Her pictures show me a world of shimmering sunlight and breathtaking views of ordinary life. She shows the common so uncommonly well. I don’t have the eye to capture the way the sun peeks through a tree above a peaceful house in rural North Carolina or how the city of Charlotte looks on a Friday afternoon through the side mirror of my car, but she captures it perfectly. So I sent her a message acknowledging her obvious talent because I believe when we see beauty in someone we should say it.

She soon responded and told me she had read my blog. My honesty had spoken to her, and she had passed the link along to friends. From that point we continued to communicate through Instagram. Then last week her dad passed away. In a few haunting, poetic lines she sent me the news. Again, I have not seen her in years, but honesty, words and hurt brought us together. Before I knew it, I was on Spotify listening to Jewel’s “My Father’s Daughter” with tears streaming down my face. It was one of the songs she chose for her father’s funeral. I ached that she was sitting on the other end of this social media chat with such a daunting task staring her in the face. “I chose blue flowers and a silver coffin.” It sounded like one of her pictures. No filter needed.

I don’t know what spoke to her from my writing other than the fact that I was open and honest about my life. I have shared about my sick mother, difficulties of motherhood, health and wellness, work/home life balance and marriage. I have no goal or purpose other than to sort through my thoughts and ideas in words. In healing myself and trying to figure it all out, there is a shared vulnerability that surfaces.

One of the new songs that Mraz played was about “making it up.” He sings that we learn lessons from other people, but in the end we are all just making it up as we go. This phrase can be interpreted as impulsive and lacking clarity or planning, but I internalize the message of “making” as an active way of living and evolving. We are making plans, making love, making mistakes, making a living, making a mess, but we are all making something. Living and not just existing. In that space of making sense of this big life, I find words to be my art form of choice. Intermingling my thoughts and reflections allows me to create while also healing and processing my world. I can enjoy making it up and hope that others, like my neighbor, can find some sense of solidarity or comfort in my journey.

Photos by Cyndie Adams. Follow her beauty here.