When I used to think about what it would be like to be pregnant, I guess I thought of it in a very masculine way: I thought about what I would DO while I was pregnant.
- Drive cross-country alone one more time
- Write an album
- Document every craving, sensation, and dream
- Listen to our whole record collection
- Write poems and letters to my unborn
I’m a do-er type. I am most comfortable when engaged in multiple projects, and my favorite kind of weekend is the one where at the end of it I have checked items off my to-do list, or worked on something tangible. I like to accomplish things, to make things. It grounds me and gives me a sense of permanence amidst the ever-change.
But pregnancy is something altogether different.
Let’s put aside for the moment the fact that I am actually accomplishing something miraculous right now – that despite the almost stupidly simple act of conceiving a child (not accounting for the years it takes to be able to do it well), and the fact that about 300,000 babies are born every DAY, it remains perhaps the most profound mystery of human existence.
That aside – the urge remains strong to DO something now – to mark this time with projects or products, to tick off the weeks and months by turning them into work-flows or deadlines.
Most mornings I wake up thinking “I should be planning a tour for the Folk Opera; I should figure out how to order the songs on the new OSHEN album; I should be sending stuff out to blogs for reviews; I should be updating the websites; I should be auditioning new Aunt Sara’s; I should be writing new material; I should be making another video; I should . . . “
It goes on almost endlessly.
And yet it occurs to me that in the 22 weeks that I have been pregnant my happiest moments have been devoid of doing. They have been moments of listening.
Listening to Kacey Johansing at the Walk Like An Egyptian festival.
Listening to Breathe Owl Breathe at Bottom of the Hill.
Listening to Waylon & Willie and David Bowie on the record player.
Listening to the wind in the leaves.
I think this is the feminine part of music. Listening is a type of surrender (which has such negative connotations), shutting up, quieting our own ego. For me this can be hard – I make art because I feel a profound need to say something, to express SOMETHING. If I shut up, I’m not making my art.
But it’s about balance, right? The listening fills us, and the making empties us out. Geez, the words to my own song say it “To be heard you have to listen, to be seen you have to see, if you want to be full you have to start out empty” (Anyway). (Is it weird to quote myself in my own blog post?) At the least I should listen to my own advice.
There’s no way I’m driving cross-country alone right now. Some days I don’t feel qualified to make my own piece of toast in the morning. And most days I long for company – people to share this change with, and to build the little monkey’s nest and network of caretakers.
I’m writing new songs, but only as they come. I’m not forcing them. I’m not expecting them. I’m waiting for them.
I want to listen. I want to surrender to sound and silence and to change.
It’s a challenge in a music world that demands constant activity, where we’re told that our audiences will forget us if we aren’t pushing ourselves in their faces on a regular basis. Where the next-best-thing is always just around another corner, always no matter what.
I’m grateful for this pregnancy forcing me to shut up and to slow down. I’m not trying to be famous here. I’m not trying to hold your attention with cartwheels and firecrackers. I’m trying to say something. I’m trying to create something that will outlive me, yes, but even more I’m perpetually trying to make one sound that holds the enormity of being human.
And if I want to do that . . . I have to listen.
that way we can share the love all around . . . thanks and thanks again.
