Where We Are This Week

turns one year old.

As of this week, the Where We Are segment of the Common Denominator turns one year old. For 52 weeks, I have sat at my kitchen table into the early hours of the morning scratching my head, wondering if I have anything to say.

Four seasons later and over 100,000 words written, I guess I do have something to say; however, I’m in no objective position to adjudicate the quality of ideas purported in this newsletter. That’s up to you.

My immediate reaction to the several thousand words I’ve spewed into the digital abyss over the last year is this: imagine what I could have done if I’d put that energy into something useful! My second response is that I never thought that the keyboarding class we were mandated to take in middle school would prove to be useful. Like Prince, I assumed the internet was just a passing phase.

If you’d allow me to be introspective for a moment, I’ll share a few thoughts on the creative process. There's a surprising contradiction in my philosophy as an artist. On one hand, I feel compelled to create. At home, the piano or guitar is never out of arm’s reach and while my daughter is banging about on one thing or another, I’m figuring out what new melody I can sing to her - and I’m really not a great singer, there’s a conundrum for you.

Some art forms are spontaneous, and some draw the subconscious into the fore with little coaxing. Others, such as this, feel much more like work. But the thing about creating is, and I’ve learned this through the ebbs and flows of my life, is that once that particular dam is opened, it’s not shutting again.

self portrait, 2023

Here’s the other glaring contradiction with which I’m forced to contend. I’m uncomfortable with the level of hubris, or perceived hubris, that it takes to promote your work. There’s a measurable level of ego that is behind this effort - just not enough for me to ask all of my friends all at once to read what I’ve written. Yes, there’s still some significant level of egotistic self-importance that allows me to think, ‘of course, people should hear what I have to say.’ Because otherwise, why would I be doing it for? This also explains the growing mountain of songs and poetry that have gone unheard by anyone save for my wife, daughter, and our animals.

Nevertheless, the floodgates have been opened and we’re building a new lake. In Tennessee, nearly all of our lakes are manmade - thanks to the TVA - and one is advised to never dive into one of those headfirst, no matter the depth. Abandoned buildings and other civilized detritus lay dangerously below the surface. Somehow, ‘no diving’ seems like an appropriate analogical warning for both of these things.

So, as much as I rattle on about togetherness or suggest lofty ideals within my writing, just know that it’s a selfish act.

But back to the point at hand, have I said anything?

Though I published my first article under the banner of the Common Denominator four years ago(!), it feels to me as if the addition of Where We Are has kicked the whole enterprise into gear. It’s been a challenging, fun, demoralizing, and meaningful addition to my weekly routine. It also has helped me cut to the core of what it is I’m trying to do.

Aldous Huxley, who authored the unbelievably prophetic Brave New World, had this idea that human consciousness was like a receiver. And like, a receiver, be it Panasonic or Marantz, it could be tuned. By altering the settings of the receiver, different forms of consciousness could be achieved. Granted, he was referring to the effects of psychedelic drugs but the idea seems to me that it might transcend chemical stimulation.

Huxley was also a proponent of eugenics which can be hard to square with my adoration of him. Genius is funny that way.

I’m animated by the religious idea that not only is there something fundamental to being human, but that it is unique and above the natural world. It’s likely not just one thing, but a constellation of ideas, emotions, and behaviors that make us special - and I do think that we’re special.

Sharing art and stories from across the world is my effort to tune our frequencies that much closer together. It’s not unity that I want, it’s understanding; in the words of my father, you picking up what I’m putting down?

I went for a drink with a new friend a couple of weeks ago and the conversation drifted into the realm of the political and philosophical - as they often do with me for some reason or another. I shared a line from Father John Misty’s Pure Comedy, where he says, “I hate to say it, but each other’s all we’ve got.”

Where I differ with Tillman’s conclusion slightly is that I think - I hope - that we were all put here for a reason. It’s up to us to find out why. Fiddling with our tuning knobs is the way we put our heads together; it’s how we hear it all.

So, have I said anything this past year? Who’s to say? Find out in year number two.

To a better next week,

Cheers,

~FDA