My fingers feel their way across a set of ivories. Plans have gone askew, and randomness of life has me seated pensively in the lobby of an assisted living facility wiling away at the keys. Piano is what I do to kill time. Nothing more.
It used to mean something, but aging so indifferently hawks away small things like individualism and reflection for the comforts of a bi-weekly pay-stub and a little security. Because today's best laid plans appear to have been built on foundations of sand, I am forced back to it - Sucked into a vacuum of empty-time, in order to reacquaint with the beauty of a former pastime. Sometimes, when I’m alert, I think that God uses these unexpected circumstances to get my attention. But today I’m just dense,….and I probably haven’t taken enough vitamin D. So I throw out a few careless chords and melodies.
I‘m all alone. Nothing profound could happen.
Unless of course, this is Eugene, Oregon; where stoned out hippees chase vegetables with wide-eyed moans, and roam the streets in droves evocative of their less-peaceful counterparts in Zombie-land.
Last I checked my GPS, I was in said trailer park. And I haven't walked more than a few blocks since.
So as one of these tie-dyed apparitions suddenly peeks around the corner at me, I am startled, but not really surprised. Comic as these things are, the last thing I want is to make eye contact, lest I get another earful about the seventh incarnation of Vishnu or add to the list of painful, pointless political discussions about well: "legalizing weed, man"...
I try to look calm, as if I have not seen, and play on so as not to startle the creature before me. If worse comes to worse, I will use a magic word like ‘organic’ at which all hippies go catatonic, so that I can run away unseen. Maybe I should be embarrassed, but this would be nothing compared to my current daydream, which throbs in my mind like house music,progressing in repetitive loops of the phrase: “double-tap”.
As I continue to play he begins to dance uncomfortably close behind.
"Ughh. Drum-circle guy." I think to myself.
To be sure, his motions couldn't really be described by the word "dancing" at all. In fact they are so primitive, he comes just short of making the chicken dance look on par with Swan Lake.
After another awkward hip thrust, I want to set my eyes on fire and bury them. Instead, I feel the hour spent looking at kick-boxing brochures at the gym will finally pay off, and I let him have a glare that feels like I’m shooting bullets. Its my pituitary gland vs. his medicated, under-used brain and I sarcastically say, "Yesss?!?" To wit I note his size and silly face. He smells thickly of cigarette smoke, and by the look of it I expect he could tell the world a lot about prison romance. Thankfully, he isn't. To wit, its unfortunate conjugal visits don't seem to do much for a person’s hygiene either.
He laughs, and his beer-belly bounces uncomfortably closer beneath a tie-dye shirt I assume he got from an alternative baby-gap.
I’m a nice guy, but I don’t want him to know it. He probably wants my money to buy beer. So I keep my teeth set with hostility as I feign a smile back.
Despite me, the man is uber-jovial. And he immediately starts telling me about his “band days.”
“Incredible,” I think. Just my luck.
It turns out, either I am easily entertained, or his story is truly interesting. As a former musician himself, he was good. Very good. As in, he would have totally gone places with Kurt Cobain if he’d only had some confidence. But, he always put himself down.
I’m a little amused so I have to smirk here.
Then he pats me on the shoulder and congratulates me, “I’m just so stoked for your confidence man.
You know, I was goin’ places too once. But your like young, and your friends party, and your like afraid of rejection and all that #*$!.”
I think he must definitely be high to think I’m going places, but I nod like I’ve seen a wild party break out from one of my Beethoven recitals.
He gazes at the floor and rambles, “I was so scared to really go for anything, but I was really afraid to get my heart broken man! You know? And you protect your heart, and like try not to let anyone get to you when you’re starting out….”
“…but like who is the ‘MAN’ to judge me anyway, right?”
He looks at me as if I must surely be moved by this deep epiphany and sighs. Finally he looks up with renewed passion,
“But, I learned that that’s what it was all about you know? Music is supposed to break your heart! And life is music! Anything that’s beautiful and important will pierce you and break your heart, man. No one ever gets good at anything if they’re afraid to let their heart try!…If their afraid of being heart broken!”
“Do you read Blaise Pascal, too?,” I wonder, but don’t get to ask as he has already ranted off onto another topic.
I’m not sure what warranted this wonderful time of sharing between himself and me, but as he proceeds to tell me how much he enjoys watching car wrecks, I nod half-heartedly and think about the truth of what he’s just said.
Talents can be freaky. The weight of expectations and potential can lead to paralysis. In the Bible you can read about a man so afraid of investing what he is given that he buries it in the ground. (Matt. 25:14-30) Here 'talent' is a monetary word, but the meaning obviously extends to other areas. For myself, fear of failure often leads me to seek satisfaction from lesser things than giving my all. Sometimes I'd rather let my mind go numb with the routine of things than face the challenge of using what I've been given. Yet, I believe each person is given things that remind the world of the Imageo Dei.
In this, we are honored by God and allowed a great dignity. Abilities and gifts may seem like personal possessions but they are really a means by which God self-expresses and shows his love for all humanity.
People think that the strongest reason to take a risk is for their personal ambition. But in this light, I think a much stronger reason presents itself. When given an opportunity for doing good, I do not want to deny anyone a demonstration of God's love and goodness by my acts of cowardice.
Today I am thankful of how truth bedecks itself in the pathetic and the ordinary, hoping we will notice. And I want to expose myself to the more difficult callings of Scripture- the ones that require I do tough things. I can never do tough things if I distance myself from my heart and the desires God has given me.
And for those who want to have out-of-the ordinary experiences daily, I can recommend three places: The Twilight Zone, Bermuda Triangle, and Eugene, Oregon.
