Sometimes, I don't feel like writing. Sometimes a new book or essay doesn’t grip me as much as watching both seasons of “Rick and Morty” for the twentieth time. Sometimes the work of typing and and rewriting and revising can look like just that, work. I could write three short stories in a day and not show them to anyone, because when telling someone about a story, their reply is “oh, okay”. It’s a disheartening feeling that takes loads of potential good writing and throws it in the trash. Even writing, I feel more pride in making S’mores cupcakes and lasagna soup. I talked more about those cupcakes at home than I do about my writing. I’m stuck wondering, “Will people like what I’ve made? Does it show off too much? Do I have anything to show off in the first place?” I feel this apathetic tone toward stuff I was once proud of. It’s a feeling a lot of people have, the dread of having something to show to the world but worrying what the world might think of it. It’s a feeling I thought would never go away, until I watched a middle school talent show.
Last Tuesday, my brother was a part of a trio of students who made up the hosts of this year’s talent show. Their job was relatively simple and came in three easy steps: tell a joke about the last act, tell a joke to get another laugh out of the audience, and introduce the next act. This job seemed easy enough. Who could mess up a few jokes at middle school talent show? Well, the answer is; my brother. He spent all the week prior to the talent show coming up with material, trying to pry a joke out of our mom, but each would fall flat because they didn't make sense. My whole family urged him to just to take some knock knock jokes from the internet and use those because who doesn’t love a knock knock joke? But Parker, my brother, was too proud. He would not sully his artistry with second hand jokes. He knew that, with enough wit and charisma, he could have the audience eating out of his hand. Confidence was glowing off of my brother when he took to the stage. He looked like he could actually do it! Unfortunately, looks can only get you so far. My brother would start confidently telling his jokes, but I could see the tiniest twinges of fear in his face, because he knew his jokes were falling on deaf ears. I could understand his avant-garde brand of comedy and let out a “Ha” now and then, but he couldn’t stand defeat. With every fallen joke, he’d lift his head and retreat backstage. He continued his self torturing act four times that night.
One of the first acts that evening was small, blonde girl whose hair was held behind her ear with a pink clip. Her acoustic guitar looked to almost be the size of her, but she managed to fit securely where she needed to be, checked the music of the stand in front of her, and, with some fear and trembling, she began to play. As the simple chords progressed one could tell she was playing Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”. Her voice softly filled the space as she began to sing. Her rendition, unlike others, stayed fragile and innocent. If anyone in the auditorium were to speak the song would’ve died out and shattered into pieces and no note would ring or resonate just as it once did. She sang out the song, and I felt like crying. I didn’t feel like I was watching performance. I felt like I was watching a plea, a prayer, and love song.
There were other performances that night. One boy made a handful of salt disappear and reappear a girl took a Sam Smith song and gave it a Janis Joplin flare with shouting and passion, but no one quite got to me like the rendition of “Hallelujah”. I think what I loved was an absence of fear and the simplicity of her song. She took an acoustic guitar and a beautiful song and didn't try to belt notes or perform any impressive improvised guitar solos. She kept it true and simple.
When I don’t want to write, I’m weighed down by the judgement of others before I can even put pen to paper. I think everyone worries about having our talents judged. We worry we aren’t showing off enough of what we can do, or we worry that if we show enough talent maybe it will be smashed to pieces by its audience. We should all try and forget the these fears that withheld us all from making something happen with our talent. We should all try to cultivate spaces of friends who want to share their work, help each other, and share it more! Sing more! Dance more! Joke more! Paint more! Cook more! Don't be afraid, start simple. Throw your own talent shows.
