FORGET-ME-NOTS: FROM BLUSTER TO BUSKER

MIRANDA AT THE MARKET

STEWART AT THE MARKET

When it is 19 degrees below zero I am (inside) at the Centennial Market portrait busking.  I used to fancy myself as a brutto tempo busker but in real time and season I am not.

My theme today is: Talk is cheap -- Action is steep.   

And I can thank Marty Nemko's doctored version of HOW TO DO LIFE (31/03/18) for the inspiration of sorts.  Marty is regular contributor to Psychology Today daily blogs.  (And, Marty, please forgive me as I adjust your words to suit my argument of things to forget when truly wanting to be a planetary busker.)

• Forget about your passion.   “Feel the power that comes from focusing on what excites you” (Oprah); “I would rather die of passion than of boredom” (Vincent Van Gogh); “Chase your passion, not your pension” (American motivational speaker, Denis Waitley).  Yes, there are yogis and rishis, artisans and idealists among us, who are doing their own thing.  Such people are more romantic than pragmatic.  Such persons who are succeeding economically are the exceptions rather than the rule.  I like to think I am an aficionado when it comes to busking.  However, having children is the game-changer.  Once you have children, and those children attend public or private schools and grow into their middle class brand values, your wallet needs to comply and will be emptied.  I cannot imagine having raised my children on my monies from writing and busking.  Alas without any regret, I joined Corporate America and had a middle-class misadventure lifestyle. 

Here is what I now know:  Following your passion ought to be your hobby, not your job.  If your passion becomes your job it’ll be along the line, I used to like hiking until I joined the army!

• Forget about the interest inventories. Strong Campbell Interest Inventory (SCII) and the Myers-Briggs come to mind and … what a laugh!  Interest inventories are those testing instruments that purportedly measure a person’s preference for work activities.  Methinks the designers of these inventories have determined that we are simply mugwumps waiting for our career epiphanies.  My imaginary book, “Choosing a Career for Dummies” would be better than any interest inventory available to date.  (I’ve just googled my imaginary book and cannot help but notice that Carol L. McClelland beat me to it.  She has published, “Your Dream Career for Dummies.”)

Here is what I now know:  I suck at career counseling and I always tell this fib to clarify my stance on such counseling, I used to be in Engineering until I met Sonya, and now I’m a dancer.

• Forget about that job with status.  Jobs with status are for narcissists, not for those seeking authenticity.  Never mind the competition for such status is, in cliché fashion, fierce.A job with status is a job with a recognized and enviable professional standing.  Examples of jobs with low status are clerks and line-cooks, servers and house keepers.  Examples of jobs with high status are the chief executives and corporate managers, the ilk of physicians and psychiatrists.If status jobs were listed in a linear measure, buskers would be quite left, right next to the beggars plotted on the extreme left.   Successful artists, be they portrait painters or rock stars would be plotted quite to the right.  As in any standardized curve of accomplishment, the beggars to the extreme left and the artists to the extreme right would be not significant in the stats.  Saying this, however, rejecting the status quo of perceived career choices on any linear scale is certainly not to abjure the important aspects of anyone’s occupation. I’ll offer one more example to continue this not-to-seek status argument.  Here is what I know now.  A job with a non-government organization (NGO) will pay less than a government job, but here is the benefit. 

Here is what I now know:  As a counselor or therapist with an NGO has far less paperwork, and can spend way more vis-à-vis in-the-ditch with clients.

• Forget about being an entrepreneur.  Owning and managing your own business has a rather attractive connotation until the reality of working for yourself sets in.  Running your own business seems ideal until you realize the more you work the more you make.  And I must mention that marketing at the front end doing the billings at the back end are horrible chores -- job fodder for scriveners, not therapists.  I’ve often described myself as being a social entrepreneur when out busking.  When I guitar busk in Canada I always have my Schizophrenia Society of Saskatchewan (SSS) sign on display in my open guitar case.  Here is the deal.  I am busking for cause, because, I offer pro bono counseling services for those clients referred through the SSS.  Also, whenever the SSS needs musical entertainment (for example, the annual $100 per plate fundraiser dinner, aside from always famous key note speaker, I am the unknown but prime performer).

Here is what I now know:  I am delusional and I rationalize accordingly.

THE BAND, STRANGER (ON SAINT PADDY'S DAY ... L-R ... MARK, JAY, SELF)

• Forget about ageism.  I’d like to close with the last bastion of prejudice in the American workplace, ageism.  Ageism need not be an impediment, or rather, ageism is not an impediment.  Lack of competence and drive are the real impediments to lack of quality and production.  Two advantages of hiring older workers are that these people often know more of want they want in life (in my workplace I’ve only wanted to be a really good counselor these past couple decades) and they often have great work ethics (when compared to those emerging adults who are seeking the highest bidders for their professional wares in high and ripe economic times). Choosing a career is more often than not the career choosing you.   As a young adult I was a laborer until I got a university degree in English literature, and then I became a high school English teacher until I got a master’s degree in Psychology, and then I became a counselor.  And now I’m a hypnotherapist and a … busker.  Not-so-strangely I’ve a passion for both.

 Here is what I now know.  It has taken me until middle-age for me to realize the execution and the limits of my passion. 

I was walking the market in Nelson, British Columbia, and could only notice the buskers.  There was an accordion player, a karaoke wannabee, and a guitar player.  The accordion player had one hundred and fifty bass keys of talent; the karaoke guy had no talent; the guitar busker was meh.  Not-so-strangely, I was attracted to the notion of being busker and had to decide whether to hug an accordion or pick a guitar.  I know how to play the accordion (I took lessons for eight years), but guitar busking is so very cool. 

I liken accordion busking to busking with bagpipes … somebody stop the insanity!  Here is my out-of-character joke for this entry and by no means is this a negative comment toward my friends who play accordions and bagpipes.  Note that I'm apologizing in front of an insult.  If a person is standing on a tenth floor balcony having an accordion in the left hand and a set of bagpipes in the other and … that same person drops both instruments over the balcony at exactly the same time and … keeping in mind the rate of falling is 32 feet per second2 … will it be the accordion or the bagpipes to hit the pavement first.  And the answer is “Who cares … as long as both instruments hit the pavement.”

While busking in Limerick, Ireland I borrowed a guitar from Michael Payne, a hypnotherapist I met by chance when asking for directions.  Receiving local directions from Michael changed the direction of my life.  Michael was an online-trained hypnotherapist who had been plying his practice for thirty years.  In conversation after divulging to Michael that I, too, was trained in hypnotherapy, academically trained in graduate school at my university, Michael convinced me that I, too, could become a hypnotherapist.  I love Michael.  He’s intelligent and witty; he’s personable and a fitness fanatic (he has a weight room next to his office), and … he strums a guitar.

HYPNOTHERAPIST, MICHAEL PAYNE

A busker is a street performer for which a passer-by can make a voluntary donation.  With my guitar and harp or my didge and clave or my sketchpad and pencil my evil plan is to be a planetary busker.

TALK IS CHEAP -- ACTION IS STEEP. 

HAPPY APRIL FOOLS DAY! 

HAPPY EASTER!

And here are those marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week:

NHL SCOUT, BRAD HORNUNG (CENTER), WITH A COUPLE OF OLDTIMER FANS

FEAR OF BUSKING: YOU KNOW IT DON'T COME EASY

KARSTEN

KARSTEN SYLVESTER MOLLER ANDERSEN (D.O.B. MARCH 11, 2018)

MY FRIEND, MARK CHANDLER

JEFF AND SHAY

Got to pay your dues if you wanna sing the blues,

And you know it don’t come easy.  (“It Don’t Come Easy” by Ringo Starr)

THE UNKNOWN ARTIST STRIKES WHILST ON MY PEE BREAK:)

And now for my theme of this blog entry:  It don’t come easy.  BUSKING DON’T COME EASY.

If you want to be a busker you do have to overcome certain fears, the main one being the fear of playing a guitar in public.  This would certainly be more angst ridden than Glossophobia, the fear of public speaking.  And for sure, public singing is cause for more distress than public speaking.   

This blog entry I will introduce my formula for guitar busking success, for reducing the anxiety prior and during the actual busking experience.  In a fight-or-flight response, this is my fight formula, my four point gradation for conquering your busking butterflies.  I mean, really, should we not be the product rather than the prisoner of our life experiences to date!

1. In trademark Nike fashion, JUST DO IT. Decide to go and sit somewhere and strum, but with your guitar case closed.  You are not busking; you are just strumming.  Just the idea of sitting somewhere, perhaps in a public park, and strumming your guitar will suffice to start.

2.  Follow a plan and EXPOSE YOURSELF.  Create for yourself a series of tolerable steps you can take to overcome your fear.  Not in flasher fashion, it is necessary to expose yourself.  Start by strumming in a public park.  Move yourself to strumming on some sidewalk elsewhere, some place that seems comfortable, preferably somewhere in the mercantile section, downtown so to speak.  Again, just strum with your guitar case closed.

3.  Endure your DISCOMFORT ZONE.  I know you will hate strumming in the park or on the sidewalk will not be much fun the first few times, but I can promise you will survive to tell about it.

4.  REPEAT, REPEAT, and REPEAT some more.  Once you’ve strummed a dozen or so times in public and your anxiety level is zeroth or considerably reduced, ‘tis time to hit the road and strum with your and open guitar case.   Don’t sing – just strum.  You do this often enough and your fear will become a reflex.

SOME PHOOEY FOR THOUGHT: 

• BE GOOD AT WHAT YOU DO … and if you simply are strumming, essentially, you are getting paid to practice!  You do not need a repertoire of any prescribed length.  Just strum, strum, and strum some more.

• NO NEED TO WEAR A DUCK COSTUME.  To dress for success is to dress in whatever you’re most comfortable.

• NOD IN ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO YOUR CONSUMERS.   When busking you stand out among your fellow plebeians.  Always, always, always acknowledge paying customers with at least a smile and nod, though saying “thanks” aloud is certainly the best practice (pun intended).

Keep in mind that when you are a busker, you are your own Kapellmeister.  When you are a busker you get to do entirely as you want. 

Go where you want.   You can go just out your door, or down the street, or downtown, or even to another town.  I tend to thrum in my downtown neighborhood.  I busk at Shoppers Drug Mart on Mondays, the Italian Star Deli on Tuesday, and Value Village on Saturday.  This is when I’m in my city.

As a busker you never have to be blinkered into going to any particular place.  In summer I love to travel out of country and busk in places like the Dam Square in Amsterdam, the Temple Bar in Dublin, and the Jemma el-Fnaa in Marrakech.  (These are some city main tourist areas where I’ve been busking; I’ve not mentioned the hundreds of sidewalks and side-streets.)

Dress as you want.  You can dress for comfort.  When it’s cold, don in layers.  When it’s hot, doff the layers.  When it’s wet – don’t busk in the rain.  Your choice of busking accoutrements is up to you.

I always wear the same costume.  Cap-a-pie I’m always hatless.  In Americano folk fashion, I’ve messy hair, a pair of shades, a long-sleeved white shirt complete with a collar, faded blue jeans, and work boots.  Occasionally, depending on the weather, I might wear long cargo-shorts and sandals.    

Play as you want.   You can play instrumental covers or just practice your own.  If you want to sing, then sing.  You can even sing in the rain if you want.

Rarely do I sing.  This is what I do when I busk.  I make up guitar riffs and match them to my C or D or G or Am harmonica.  When I’m busking with my 12 string I am never without my harp.

Stay as you want.   Time economy is totally up to you.  Staying five minutes or five hours the choice is yours.

I’ve been known to linger in a busk-spot sometimes not longer than five minutes.  And I’ve been known to linger a couple hours.  The choice of length of time to stay is always mine.

It don’t come easy.  BUSKING DON’T COME EASY!  

Marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week is my Grand Trunk Troubadour band-mate, CORY BALDWIN.  This is Cory strummin’ and singin’ solo and pro bono at a retirement community.  He is channeling Hank Williams!

AN INSTANT INTERNET SUCCESS!

"KOOL-AID, KOOL-AID TASTES GREAT: KOOL-AID, KOOL-AID, CAN'T WAIT!"

VICTORIA VICTORIA!

PRIVATE PRACTICE COUNSELOR JIM

MY NEIGHBOR VENDOR, CAROLYN

MY FRIEND, ROD

Kool-Aid today is in direct reference to the 1978 cult mass-suicide in Jonestown, Guyana.  Jim Jones, the group leader, convinced his flock to commit suicide by drinking grape-flavored Kook-Aid laced with potassium cyanide, at least that’s how the story goes.  In what is now commonly called “the Jonestown Massacre,” 913 of the 1100 Jonestown residents drank the Kool-Aid and died.

Now Drinking the Kool-Aid is an urban expression that refers to any person or group who goes along with an idea because of peer pressure.   Drinking the Kool-Aid has mostly a pejorative connotation, as it will perhaps (or perhaps not) in this blog entry.

BRUNO

BRUNO PICTURE

Currently I’m considering quenching my thirst for dollars by drinking the Kool-Aid; more specifically, surrendering to the notion of drawing mutt mugs (see my blog entry, DRAW DOGS:  I’M A BOWSKER! June 22, 2014).

Factoid:  I’m a street busker.  I love drawing people’s portraits outside in the sunshine on windless days.  Dogs, I loathe to draw because they squirm too much.

Factoid:  In winter I’m an indoor-market busker.  Drawing live people inside is a joy but sketching animate canines inside or outside is a chore. 

Factoid:  Lately I’ve had this epiphany -- there is mucho dollars in pooch drawing, some big bucks in those barks.  And so drinking the Kool-Aid is proof I can be bought.  If the masters provide the pictures I will draw their dogs for a substantial sum.  Typically I charge ten dollars for a person, a ten minute quick-draw portrait.  However; for a pup portrait, because I’m drawing from a picture and likely to draw it at home, I will charge $25.00 (though I still will commit only ten minutes for the quick-draw).

Such self-negotiations and rationalizations prove that I can be bought.  Drinking the Kool-Aid, in mercenary manner, I shall attempt to chew on the bones of the mongrel market.  But alas upon reflection, I’m drinking the Kool-Aid elsewhere too.

Adhering to any social convention is drinking the Kool-Aid.  Everything from a hug or a handshake, aloha or adios, and adhering to professional and vocational and vocational etiquette is, too, wittingly sipping the Kool-Aid.

We are sipping Kool-Aid in the Western mainstream when we are settling down (colloquial expression), starting a family, embarking upon a career, adopting middle-class values, and embracing middle-class misadventures.  Natured or nurtured, we are ever submitting to drinking the Kool-Aid in our commitment to evolutionary and social fashion.  

Typically, if we want to live our lives forward and live a good and honest life, we need to be sipping the Kool-Aid.  Fundamental to live a life that is lived forward, we need at least a formal education and recreational exercise as a base for a life well spent.  To continue the species we need to procreate, and to procreate we need to recreate.  As a collective our species is amaranthine – as individuals we are finite. 

Yada yada.  Is that all there is?    

Comparison is the thief of joy (Theodore Roosevelt).

A Kool-Aid life is a life of social comparison, a life of following and keeping up with the peers.

However, every now and then there is yearning for more.  Every now and then we crave a lifestyle beyond that we are currently living.   And that existential yen is the consequence of existential dread -- is that all there is.

Ah … existential dread.  We are all on a life continuum of feeling insecure, envious, and discontented, some of us more so than others. 

And to liberate ourselves from the Kool-Aid libation, to exit ourselves from garrets dark and drear, we do have the power of escape into existential enlightenment.  To liberate ourselves from middle-class confinements, we have to imagine the life we want and then initiate the action to make it happen. 

Unfortunately, those same feelings of insecurity and envy and discontent from which we long to break, will have to be fully experienced and shattered enough to break the chains of life Kool-Aid addictions.  And I do not mean in Heavy Harry fashion.

(Remember the Heavy-Harrys?  Those “movin’ and groovin’ and being really, really, heavy” characters of the late 60’s and early 70’s?  The guys who thought they were so cool but were mocked by those that really were cool?

Admittedly, drinking the Kool-Aid is the necessary quench for some economic and social thirsts in everyone’s life.  But once you’ve had enough chow-down on the main courses, and after you have had a million after-dinner burps, then it is time for that sweet, sweet dessert -- your ice-cream dream.

My dream is to be a planetary busker -- 

I’m already licking my ice-cream!

KOOL-AID, KOOL-AID 

TASTES GREAT

ICE-CREAM, ICE-CREAM

CAN’T WAIT!

Those marching in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week:

STARTING TO DRAW RILEY

RILEY FINIS

RILEY PICTURE

 

MARCUS

MY PLACE AT THE MARKET