If it is art, that creative life force is within you and will shift forms. Music, writing, photography, yoga, hiking, instruments, etc. all feed off of each other. I believe creativity is a muscle that needs practice. When life throws us disappointments and the unexpected, artists courageously accept the challenge whether they want to or not. It’s too much a part of who we are.
I had a 2.2 cm tumor pulled from my head in an emergency surgery in 2022. I wrote a 10-part song cycle about the duality of life’s challenges and miracles to cope with the chaos. If I didn’t have music, I think I would have gone mad with fear and overthinking.
Ramble over, but yes, alchemy. Creators of any sort. We are alchemists with whatever life throws at us ✨🎶❤️
Argh, first, the compassion. I know the loss of identity from mid-life chronic illness/disability and it is intense. It is wonderful that you asked this question because it is a means to being seen, witnessed, in the grief of this reality, and that witnessing is key to (mostly) healthy integration of hard realities.
Second, I hope that you may treat this reality as grief, as something to be honoured and mourned in grief, before there is transition into new realities, new futures (which also exist, but the grief asks for attention first). I am capable of many things and enjoyed pursuing those things, participating in the world in many ways. So much of that was lost to me through health challenges. I really had to grieve those losses, of opportunities and pleasures and identity, before I could do any transitions or integration into a new (wonderful) future. If there are rituals you connect to around grief or loss I hope you may explore them for these losses - writing, or speaking, or even a tongue in cheek “funeral” or party to share the change with others, find the types of joy that only spark deep in that suffering zone. It is a loss at a scale and a meaning level as significant as a loved one, it will likely help to respect that scale, meet yourself in that dark reality.
And that brings me back to self-compassionate witnessing. I have no doubt there will be many joys and new pleasures to come from your change in circumstances. But in this piece, the depressive, deep suffering piece, I hope you will meet yourself in that darkness and just honour that it’s incredibly hard. Ask yourself what you need, given that you are experiencing something so challenging to identity and soul, and meet that need as best you can, with kindness and reverence.
I have been to so many dark places and for so long. I am now in a much more sustainably wonderful place. And one of the biggest things I did to get from there to here is letting myself grieve, and meeting myself in the suffering. “This is so hard. What do I need?” Over and over and over.
I send you such grace and love as you navigate this piece. If any of what I have said resonates with you, you may enjoy Parker Palmer’s writing in depression, which I found in chapters of the book “Let Your Life Speak”.
Regardless, I hope that music remains your close friend through this part and into a different future, even if/when your connection to it shifts with capacity. In another life I would have made music my life too, but how tremendous that even if we cannot make music we still get to keep it close in other ways.
I can relate to this topic, as someone that was a part time working musician singer/songwriter kinda guy. Back in 2018 aged 54 I got some sort of infection that turned to sepsis, long story short whilst trying to fight the unknown infection in hospital I had a brain stem stroke. I was a rag doll for a while and over the years have regained lots things I lost. The best way to describe my situation is I have lost most fine motor skills.
I can know longer play guitar or sing I can just manage to talk, one of my main musical strengths was lost that was a decent blues/folk harmonica player.
At first I was glad to be still alive I guess and have concentrated on what I can do and what might be possible down the road. I have never spent time on lamenting and grieving on what I lost! I think this is key I think about ok, what can I do? Yes, I'm pissed off that I can't do what I use too lost contact with lots of folks I knew via playing and gigging, maybe another person would not cope. But if don't move on your doomed.
I taught myself about using MIDI via Utube something that never would entered my thinking before.
These days as gain more movement and coordination back I am mostly in the garden growing stuff,
that's very creative and if spill some dirt no problems.
I have gained back some musical abilities I can strum a few chords etc but I'm shit I will never get back to where I was as a player simple as that. So I would rather learn how to grow stuff in the garden I do what I can do that's the secret.
I've dealt with severe health challenges for over 30 years, including removal of a life-threatening spinal tumor in 1993. This surgery left me partially disabled. Since then, I have been able to continue my musical career in a variety of ways--some of which I wouldn't have conceived of if I hadn't encountered these life challenges. In the words of the great saxophonist Lester Young, "Necessity is a m----- f-----."
I know of what this man speaks. I lost a good chunk of hearing after an acoustic trauma on a New Delhi stage. In a recent move and desire to get real, I sold my piano and studio. I find the suffering of this new reality to be ridiculously intense. It is reminiscent of coming off an addiction.
So many of us are going through these kinds of letting go as we age. However, like others who’ve written wise comments, once we survive the waves of loss and acceptance, we realize we can take the same brilliance and diligence that was applied to our professional artistic careers, and simply change gears. This sounds too simplistic, almost banal. However, we are not our instruments… Even through the gazillion hours of diligence and dedication we brought. None of that is lost. It just needs to be redirected.
As I survey the mess of these times, knowing that I only have another decade or two, the process of mentoring and creating new spaces seems to be worthwhile. There are a 1000 ways that music and other arts can be used in the coming times that will help others endure.
I have chronic pain and fatigue from two forms of arthritis, as well as anxiety, depression, insomnia, adhd, breathing issues, and some other stuff. Normal work is basically out, even if family gets me some gig work here and there. It can be painful because people define you by your job. First thing adults ask each other is always, "So what do you do?"
I can't credibly tell anyone how to cope, because I'm hardly a beacon of stability. But bad as things get, I think what helps me find my way back to balance is remembering that my creativity is just another way to love beautiful things. Even if you can't write, or draw, or read, or play, I feel like by appreciating what's good in the world, you're honoring something that requires that appreciation. Being in the life of the people you love is the same, too. Even without producing, with a bit of luck, there'll always be worthwhile things to share.
For the past three decades I have worked on a book about trusting God with suffering. My conversation partner is Habakkuk from the Old Testament.
There are many dangers in offering counsel to someone who is suffering. I would want to sit down for some unhurried conversations before I said much, though I do believe as a Christian that there is much to appreciate that is both honest and hopeful.
I am currently reading and meditating on John Donne's fabulous essays that were written while he was extremely ill. They have a thick realism to them coupled with a steady confidence in God. Life-giving stuff.
It’s really hard to deal with physical challenges that get in the way of making music and I feel for you. I do not have a disability as serious as Parkinson’s, but I have had mysterious and debilitating autoimmune stuff going on for the past seven years. It’s affected my overall health, and also my singing. It’s depressing and scary at times. And all the time spent going to doctors and trying to chase down solutions is a bit crazy-making in itself. Dr. Internet can be an unhelpful time-sinking demon. All this focus on “health” also means time not making music, not creating, which for me (and I’m sure you and others) has been my sanity lifeline for decades. So recently I have made sure I make space to just create with no agenda like I first did as a teenager. If it feels physically hard to play guitar, I play another instrument like dulcimer or piano. If I can’t sing, I try to just wait until I can again. Or shift the creative focus outside music. Sometimes I am not so graceful about it, but I do my best to “accept what I cannot change” in the moment. Being in deep nature is always good. The other specific thing I am finding very helpful is supporting my body and mind with massage and lately structural integrated bodywork (like Rolfing or Hellerwork). There is deep grief that comes from aging and losing the physical ability to do what makes us most joyful. That’s just part of being human. But if I don’t feel, express, and look for meaning in that sadness and grief, I cannot find joy. When the joy returns, so does the creative flow.
I have Lupus, and I have had it since I was 15. I have been performing as a jazz and blues vocalist in the Chicago area for 25 years but when Covid started I had to step back from performing because I take chemotherapy to keep Lupus in remission. I have not been able to perform much, unless it is at an outdoor concert in the summer because getting Covid, even in it's weaker form now, could cause me organ damage and serious illness. I really miss performing and my fans miss me too. I spend as much time making music videos and new recordings now as I can because it is the only outlet that I have for my music. Until there is a permanent cure for Covid and the microclots that it causes, I can't go out without a mask on. It has been one of the biggest challenges of my career.
Be compassionate with yourself. I can't tell you how to adjust your passion for music, but I know you'll figure that out once you practice loving kindness towards your mind and body. You will show yourself the way. Wishing you peace and happiness on your journey.
This question made me think of some reflections I had along these lines a few years back.
"Perhaps the first thing that [the average man] can learn from the artists is that the only way of mastering one’s material is to abandon the whole conception of mastery and to co-operate with it in love: whosoever will be lord of life, let him be its servant. If he tries to wrest life out of its true nature, it will revenge itself in judgement, as the world revenges itself upon the domineering artist."
-Dorothy Sayers, from the essay Problem Picture
Physical and mental challenges can be really frustrating, especially new ones in mid-life.
Instead of mastery, cooperate in love. This goes first of all for one’s body. Are you really a baritone? Stop trying to bang your head against the wall singing the tenor part. Soprano’s who are really alto’s? The same goes for you. Do you have weak hands but still love to play the guitar? There really is a tremendous amount of music that can be played without continuous bar chords, but a lot of the classical repertoire may be agonizing to you. Don’t make yourself miserable. Work WITH your body, not against it, and find a way forward. Find some different stuff to play. Eyes don’t work very well enough to sight read? Don’t get angry – start memorizing. There IS a time to discipline your body into shape, but there is also a time, when youth has passed, to just STOP and figure out what works and what you’re actually capable of. The person who lost an arm in a car accident knows this and will obviously take a one-handed approach to the piano. But YOU are not whole either. I am not whole either, even if my “disability” may be less obvious. Work with your body in love – with it’s nature.
The other angle involves collaboration with other people. Push to much for your own way and things will blow up in your face. The other musicians will revenge themselves upon the domineering artist. The primary way they do this is by quitting, and then you are left to play by yourself, which isn’t much fun at all. As Sayer’s says, we should abandon mastery and cooperate with the material (the music, the instruments, our friends, our bodies) in love. Rather than trying to Lord it over these things, be their servant.
You don't really. We become what we do, especially if we're talking about making a career out of doing something that many others regard as a hobby. It defines you in a way that working in a store does not. That's what is so great about being a creative. That's why it's so damn competitive. Getting paid to do the things we loved to do anyways when we were teenagers?
You have to separate your artist from your essence as a human being. I tell my friends who all love my playing that's not why I'm friends with you. One of my closest friends is an abstract artist, quite good actually. But he's so insecure, always wants his friends to gawk at his newest paintings and praise them. I constantly have to tell him that's not why I'm friends with you.
But it really is impossible to separate on some level, n'est-ce pas? As Kate mentioned, the creative mind between our skulls doesn't go anywhere. (Well sometimes it does, dementia and other things that cause us to lose cognition). Amazing when you read enough obits or bios how many creatives, the best of the best which is why they have bios or NYT obits, started off in a different creative field before switching. How many actors were musicians . . .
When we lose a part of ourself, we go on. People who become deaf or blind, lose their mobility after an accident, the whole gamut. Until we can't go on. But most do, that's the amazing part.
What might I add that hasn't already been said in ways that need no further expansion? I've been sidelined a number of times in my journey as a tap dancer. Every time it was as if I was being stretched beyond my connection with my craft – to consider something deeper. Even today there are things that I used to do that I just can't anymore. Connection stretched...drawn deeper. As has already been mentioned, there is the loss, the interruption of something so close to you and something so regular in one's life, the dramatic change of what the practice of making might look like, the unknown of what lies ahead – face it, grieve it, honor it all, with compassion. Then there is this deeper truth, that once I was able to hear it, has given me much solace: While important in their own way, it is not what we have made that is the greatest gift we give to the world. Rather, it is the person that we become that is the greatest gift we can give – and that journey never ends.
When my body betrayed everything I ever knew, the axon of identity, “You are what you do”
eventually had to evolve into,
“You are what you love”.
Otherwise, many days I would simply be the carbon dioxide I give to the trees.
If it is art, that creative life force is within you and will shift forms. Music, writing, photography, yoga, hiking, instruments, etc. all feed off of each other. I believe creativity is a muscle that needs practice. When life throws us disappointments and the unexpected, artists courageously accept the challenge whether they want to or not. It’s too much a part of who we are.
I had a 2.2 cm tumor pulled from my head in an emergency surgery in 2022. I wrote a 10-part song cycle about the duality of life’s challenges and miracles to cope with the chaos. If I didn’t have music, I think I would have gone mad with fear and overthinking.
Ramble over, but yes, alchemy. Creators of any sort. We are alchemists with whatever life throws at us ✨🎶❤️
Argh, first, the compassion. I know the loss of identity from mid-life chronic illness/disability and it is intense. It is wonderful that you asked this question because it is a means to being seen, witnessed, in the grief of this reality, and that witnessing is key to (mostly) healthy integration of hard realities.
Second, I hope that you may treat this reality as grief, as something to be honoured and mourned in grief, before there is transition into new realities, new futures (which also exist, but the grief asks for attention first). I am capable of many things and enjoyed pursuing those things, participating in the world in many ways. So much of that was lost to me through health challenges. I really had to grieve those losses, of opportunities and pleasures and identity, before I could do any transitions or integration into a new (wonderful) future. If there are rituals you connect to around grief or loss I hope you may explore them for these losses - writing, or speaking, or even a tongue in cheek “funeral” or party to share the change with others, find the types of joy that only spark deep in that suffering zone. It is a loss at a scale and a meaning level as significant as a loved one, it will likely help to respect that scale, meet yourself in that dark reality.
And that brings me back to self-compassionate witnessing. I have no doubt there will be many joys and new pleasures to come from your change in circumstances. But in this piece, the depressive, deep suffering piece, I hope you will meet yourself in that darkness and just honour that it’s incredibly hard. Ask yourself what you need, given that you are experiencing something so challenging to identity and soul, and meet that need as best you can, with kindness and reverence.
I have been to so many dark places and for so long. I am now in a much more sustainably wonderful place. And one of the biggest things I did to get from there to here is letting myself grieve, and meeting myself in the suffering. “This is so hard. What do I need?” Over and over and over.
I send you such grace and love as you navigate this piece. If any of what I have said resonates with you, you may enjoy Parker Palmer’s writing in depression, which I found in chapters of the book “Let Your Life Speak”.
Regardless, I hope that music remains your close friend through this part and into a different future, even if/when your connection to it shifts with capacity. In another life I would have made music my life too, but how tremendous that even if we cannot make music we still get to keep it close in other ways.
With love, and solidarity, Katie.
I can relate to this topic, as someone that was a part time working musician singer/songwriter kinda guy. Back in 2018 aged 54 I got some sort of infection that turned to sepsis, long story short whilst trying to fight the unknown infection in hospital I had a brain stem stroke. I was a rag doll for a while and over the years have regained lots things I lost. The best way to describe my situation is I have lost most fine motor skills.
I can know longer play guitar or sing I can just manage to talk, one of my main musical strengths was lost that was a decent blues/folk harmonica player.
At first I was glad to be still alive I guess and have concentrated on what I can do and what might be possible down the road. I have never spent time on lamenting and grieving on what I lost! I think this is key I think about ok, what can I do? Yes, I'm pissed off that I can't do what I use too lost contact with lots of folks I knew via playing and gigging, maybe another person would not cope. But if don't move on your doomed.
I taught myself about using MIDI via Utube something that never would entered my thinking before.
These days as gain more movement and coordination back I am mostly in the garden growing stuff,
that's very creative and if spill some dirt no problems.
I have gained back some musical abilities I can strum a few chords etc but I'm shit I will never get back to where I was as a player simple as that. So I would rather learn how to grow stuff in the garden I do what I can do that's the secret.
Cheers Luke
from Australia
I've dealt with severe health challenges for over 30 years, including removal of a life-threatening spinal tumor in 1993. This surgery left me partially disabled. Since then, I have been able to continue my musical career in a variety of ways--some of which I wouldn't have conceived of if I hadn't encountered these life challenges. In the words of the great saxophonist Lester Young, "Necessity is a m----- f-----."
I know of what this man speaks. I lost a good chunk of hearing after an acoustic trauma on a New Delhi stage. In a recent move and desire to get real, I sold my piano and studio. I find the suffering of this new reality to be ridiculously intense. It is reminiscent of coming off an addiction.
So many of us are going through these kinds of letting go as we age. However, like others who’ve written wise comments, once we survive the waves of loss and acceptance, we realize we can take the same brilliance and diligence that was applied to our professional artistic careers, and simply change gears. This sounds too simplistic, almost banal. However, we are not our instruments… Even through the gazillion hours of diligence and dedication we brought. None of that is lost. It just needs to be redirected.
As I survey the mess of these times, knowing that I only have another decade or two, the process of mentoring and creating new spaces seems to be worthwhile. There are a 1000 ways that music and other arts can be used in the coming times that will help others endure.
Wow, I am amazed at the quality of the comments here. What a great community.
I have chronic pain and fatigue from two forms of arthritis, as well as anxiety, depression, insomnia, adhd, breathing issues, and some other stuff. Normal work is basically out, even if family gets me some gig work here and there. It can be painful because people define you by your job. First thing adults ask each other is always, "So what do you do?"
I can't credibly tell anyone how to cope, because I'm hardly a beacon of stability. But bad as things get, I think what helps me find my way back to balance is remembering that my creativity is just another way to love beautiful things. Even if you can't write, or draw, or read, or play, I feel like by appreciating what's good in the world, you're honoring something that requires that appreciation. Being in the life of the people you love is the same, too. Even without producing, with a bit of luck, there'll always be worthwhile things to share.
My spiritual practice really helps me, especially getting out into nature.
I also make art and write. I can no longer work for others. These things keep me sane.
The acceptance, though, takes time. Just time.
I wish him all the best.
For the past three decades I have worked on a book about trusting God with suffering. My conversation partner is Habakkuk from the Old Testament.
There are many dangers in offering counsel to someone who is suffering. I would want to sit down for some unhurried conversations before I said much, though I do believe as a Christian that there is much to appreciate that is both honest and hopeful.
I am currently reading and meditating on John Donne's fabulous essays that were written while he was extremely ill. They have a thick realism to them coupled with a steady confidence in God. Life-giving stuff.
It’s really hard to deal with physical challenges that get in the way of making music and I feel for you. I do not have a disability as serious as Parkinson’s, but I have had mysterious and debilitating autoimmune stuff going on for the past seven years. It’s affected my overall health, and also my singing. It’s depressing and scary at times. And all the time spent going to doctors and trying to chase down solutions is a bit crazy-making in itself. Dr. Internet can be an unhelpful time-sinking demon. All this focus on “health” also means time not making music, not creating, which for me (and I’m sure you and others) has been my sanity lifeline for decades. So recently I have made sure I make space to just create with no agenda like I first did as a teenager. If it feels physically hard to play guitar, I play another instrument like dulcimer or piano. If I can’t sing, I try to just wait until I can again. Or shift the creative focus outside music. Sometimes I am not so graceful about it, but I do my best to “accept what I cannot change” in the moment. Being in deep nature is always good. The other specific thing I am finding very helpful is supporting my body and mind with massage and lately structural integrated bodywork (like Rolfing or Hellerwork). There is deep grief that comes from aging and losing the physical ability to do what makes us most joyful. That’s just part of being human. But if I don’t feel, express, and look for meaning in that sadness and grief, I cannot find joy. When the joy returns, so does the creative flow.
I have Lupus, and I have had it since I was 15. I have been performing as a jazz and blues vocalist in the Chicago area for 25 years but when Covid started I had to step back from performing because I take chemotherapy to keep Lupus in remission. I have not been able to perform much, unless it is at an outdoor concert in the summer because getting Covid, even in it's weaker form now, could cause me organ damage and serious illness. I really miss performing and my fans miss me too. I spend as much time making music videos and new recordings now as I can because it is the only outlet that I have for my music. Until there is a permanent cure for Covid and the microclots that it causes, I can't go out without a mask on. It has been one of the biggest challenges of my career.
Be compassionate with yourself. I can't tell you how to adjust your passion for music, but I know you'll figure that out once you practice loving kindness towards your mind and body. You will show yourself the way. Wishing you peace and happiness on your journey.
This question made me think of some reflections I had along these lines a few years back.
"Perhaps the first thing that [the average man] can learn from the artists is that the only way of mastering one’s material is to abandon the whole conception of mastery and to co-operate with it in love: whosoever will be lord of life, let him be its servant. If he tries to wrest life out of its true nature, it will revenge itself in judgement, as the world revenges itself upon the domineering artist."
-Dorothy Sayers, from the essay Problem Picture
Physical and mental challenges can be really frustrating, especially new ones in mid-life.
Instead of mastery, cooperate in love. This goes first of all for one’s body. Are you really a baritone? Stop trying to bang your head against the wall singing the tenor part. Soprano’s who are really alto’s? The same goes for you. Do you have weak hands but still love to play the guitar? There really is a tremendous amount of music that can be played without continuous bar chords, but a lot of the classical repertoire may be agonizing to you. Don’t make yourself miserable. Work WITH your body, not against it, and find a way forward. Find some different stuff to play. Eyes don’t work very well enough to sight read? Don’t get angry – start memorizing. There IS a time to discipline your body into shape, but there is also a time, when youth has passed, to just STOP and figure out what works and what you’re actually capable of. The person who lost an arm in a car accident knows this and will obviously take a one-handed approach to the piano. But YOU are not whole either. I am not whole either, even if my “disability” may be less obvious. Work with your body in love – with it’s nature.
The other angle involves collaboration with other people. Push to much for your own way and things will blow up in your face. The other musicians will revenge themselves upon the domineering artist. The primary way they do this is by quitting, and then you are left to play by yourself, which isn’t much fun at all. As Sayer’s says, we should abandon mastery and cooperate with the material (the music, the instruments, our friends, our bodies) in love. Rather than trying to Lord it over these things, be their servant.
Yin and yang answer.
You don't really. We become what we do, especially if we're talking about making a career out of doing something that many others regard as a hobby. It defines you in a way that working in a store does not. That's what is so great about being a creative. That's why it's so damn competitive. Getting paid to do the things we loved to do anyways when we were teenagers?
You have to separate your artist from your essence as a human being. I tell my friends who all love my playing that's not why I'm friends with you. One of my closest friends is an abstract artist, quite good actually. But he's so insecure, always wants his friends to gawk at his newest paintings and praise them. I constantly have to tell him that's not why I'm friends with you.
But it really is impossible to separate on some level, n'est-ce pas? As Kate mentioned, the creative mind between our skulls doesn't go anywhere. (Well sometimes it does, dementia and other things that cause us to lose cognition). Amazing when you read enough obits or bios how many creatives, the best of the best which is why they have bios or NYT obits, started off in a different creative field before switching. How many actors were musicians . . .
When we lose a part of ourself, we go on. People who become deaf or blind, lose their mobility after an accident, the whole gamut. Until we can't go on. But most do, that's the amazing part.
What might I add that hasn't already been said in ways that need no further expansion? I've been sidelined a number of times in my journey as a tap dancer. Every time it was as if I was being stretched beyond my connection with my craft – to consider something deeper. Even today there are things that I used to do that I just can't anymore. Connection stretched...drawn deeper. As has already been mentioned, there is the loss, the interruption of something so close to you and something so regular in one's life, the dramatic change of what the practice of making might look like, the unknown of what lies ahead – face it, grieve it, honor it all, with compassion. Then there is this deeper truth, that once I was able to hear it, has given me much solace: While important in their own way, it is not what we have made that is the greatest gift we give to the world. Rather, it is the person that we become that is the greatest gift we can give – and that journey never ends.