Saturday was a stay at home project day, so Dave and I got brave and ambitious and went to town on our closets, and we did some pretty good damage. Sometimes you have to make a big mess before you can clean things up. We began de-junking and dragging every last piece of crap that was crammed into the dark corners of our closets and out into the open which would soon reveal a massive monster of a pile... oh no what have we done! Everything from an extensive collection of shopping bags, games, worn out towels, Happy Meal toys, and array of hair products from my "kitchen cosmo" days, broken electronics, craft supplies galore, crumpled stacks of papers with messy handwritten lyrics to songs I had written for High Hopes and Heartbreak stuffed into binders and other random objects that have little relevance to our lives.
Sitting in the middle of the hallway, it was hard to fathom that it all somehow seemed to fit into that small linen closet. Then came the excruciating part, which was to one by one, go through each and every last thing and decide it's fate. Some stuff would be headed to the trash, while others would find a new home, or take a trip to the Goodwill down the street... and then of course there are those things that you just can't part with, some for practical reasons, others for sentimental value. But the most obnoxious is those items that you don't really need, don't really want but you feel like it's just not right to get rid of. Now mind you we were trying our best to really get serious, to de-clutter and shake ourselves free from useless "stuff". This isn't an easy process, as a matter of fact I was mentally exhausted by it all...
Now I know it is just "stuff", but even "stuff" is tied to memories, some good, some not so good, some important. I suppose that is why we just stuff the "stuff" in the closet, where we don't have to look at it, where it is out of sight and out of mind, but somewhere way back on the back-burners of our minds we know it's there if we ever wanted to find it. The hard part is coming face to face with it, reliving it, remembering it... for a few minutes it kinda makes you feel like your heart has dropped into the pit of your stomach...a little sad, or nervous maybe... or maybe even happy and nostalgic. But then after you've had your moment you realize that you're okay, you're really okay! Whew! Hooray! What a relief. You realize where you've been, and you can't believe how far you've come. And when I say "you" I mostly mean "me", but I'd rather make it about you, cause I am slightly uncomfortable about making it about me. Anywho...
In that endless stack papers I found a page ripped out of Music Connection, it was my first Show Review of my second show ever... and unfortunately Mr. Bernard Baur found my performance to be not bueno... and I don't know if I can really blame him. I was twenty years old, I had short hair, no confidence and a load of emotional baggage that I'd decided to pack up and move out to Los Angeles on my own that summer to quietly go to Music school, to figure myself out, to grow up, to fill a void, to see if maybe I had even a glimmer of talent. Well, Music school led me to songwriting, which forced me to sit down in a tiny practice room and start plunking out the notes on the piano while singing simultaneously, words that were my own, I wrote my first song "Come to my Rescue", that song took me to the Attic Studio of a Producer that believed in me, where I started to record my songs, which then landed me on the stage of Molly Malones on Fairfax, I played my first two shows, with just a rhodes piano, the few original tunes I had in my pocket and a couple of legendary cover songs that I was brave (or foolish) enough to sing in the same company of my own. There was a small audience of the few friends I'd made at church and school. I'll never forget how I felt like a fish out of water up there, my throat was dry and my fingers couldn't remember which keys to play, I would stop in the middle of a song to try to remember what came next, those few empty seconds felt like hours, you could hear the crickets, I barely made it through to the end of the 30 minute set. When the show was over I was pretty certain that I never wanted to do that again. But, somehow I did. All of this in one short summer. I had left my boyfriend behind in Arizona, I told him I'd be back at the start of Fall, that was my plan, I never intended on staying, but one Friday after school I drove out to Marina Del Ray and stood on the beach and I knew I wasn't going home. He was surprised when he came out to California to visit me, he didn't even really know that I sang, I guess I didn't really know either, I still wasn't sure. I told him that I wasn't coming back to Arizona, he understood.
Months later, I married my boyfriend. It wasn't much longer after that the review of my second show at Molly Malones finally showed up in Music Connection. I remember reading it, I remember feeling embarrassed for myself, I remember wanting to quit, I remember believing every word he said, I remember trying to take it as constructive criticism, I remember disliking Bernard Baur for writing the review, I remember dwelling on the part that he said "Brooke's voice is decent and her piano playing skills are competent.... there is no heart", I remember remembering every reason I didn't believe in myself. It was hard to take, really hard. But then there was that littlest tiniest part at the end, the "nonetheless" part... the "there is a hint of promise... Brooke might become the artist she aspires to be" part. I could hardly see it at the moment, but it was there... at the end of my dark tunnel of insecurity, a pinhole of light.
After the pity party was over, and I'd gotten a good pep talk the sadness turned to stubborness, I wanted to show that mean Mr. Bernard Baur with the beard that I was indeed capable of becoming the artist I wanted to be, That I could play the piano and sing, that I had a heart. But as the years have gone by I realized I really just needed to show myself... and I've realized that I'm tougher on me Then Bernard ever was, It is a long road that I am still on. Since then I have stood on a stage in front of millions, to be judged by critic of all critics, it's still tough to take. My feelings still get hurt... BUT... but, at the end of the day regardless of what Bernard Baur, Simon Cowell or some random JoeShmo on the internet says, I have to find it within myself to know that I am Brooke White, I am an Artist, I make mistakes on the piano, my voice cracks, but I sing with all my guts and sometimes I like what I do and sometimes I don't... but there is one thing for certain, I'm gonna get back on the stage again... no matter what.
It's good to look back and remember that you have to start somewhere...
PS- I'm not angry at Bernard Baur anymore, and I mean that :)
