Coming back to "life"...

Anxiety can keep a person up at night. Anxiety is triggered by identification with dire circumstances and projection of possible awfulness. I wouldn’t get anxious about just anyone, but when it comes to my siblings, it’s almost as if I am THEY and THEY are me. I’ve had to deal with sibling circumstances and possible awfulness a few times in my life, as the oldest of six. The most recent episode is still unfolding.

 

My middle brother is now living in our house, sleeping on the couch and presiding at a desk tucked away in a corner. He partakes of meals at the one extra place at our table, and his appetite is improving. Our house is tiny, but we’re managing to maneuver around each other. It feels crowded, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. My alone-time (if I even recognize a need for it, which I often fail to do) has to be taken outside the house; either that or I have to shut the door to my little office/studio, which I rarely do because of the dog, who will whine and sometimes bark outside the shut door. Not to mention that if I’m home at all, I feel I MUST be available to whoever lives here— to serve their needs. Cultural conditioning, I suppose.

 

My brother has his own relationship with music. He loves Brazilian styles, perhaps because he once had a Brazilian girlfriend. He loves smooth jazz and "easy listening" from a bygone era (the 1950s and ‘60s). He doesn’t actively listen to any of it now, though, at least not more than a few seconds of it. It’s almost as if he enjoys KNOWING about it more than the music itself. He claims to abhor vocal music, as did our father. This means that I’m now even more self-conscious about practicing my own music in the house. My brother doesn’t want to hear any of my songs, though one of them is about him.

 

Having retired too early from his relatively great job in Atlanta, my brother let his life slide into minimal maintenance mode, especially during COVID. When his duplex was sold and he was given notice, he didn’t, and in fact, COULDN’T do anything about it. His refusal to communicate about this, even with family, led to my aforementioned anxiety. That propelled me to pay him a surprise visit, and indeed, the situation was approaching “dire.” Now that he’s here, I can keep an eye on him, and he’s coming back to “life” (although what sort of life can we offer? He will have to make some decisions soon, and that’s not his strength. At 60, his strength is still CONVERSATION, amusing and erudite, though now interrupted by unexplained sighs).

 

I wish we had a bigger house; I’ve always wished for spaciousness and high ceilings, even though I don’t deserve them. I wouldn’t care how old and crumbling the house was, I just need room to move and places to put stuff. That unfulfilled desire is a recurring, pointless sorrow I cannot erase after all these years, despite frequent applications of Buddhist-style thoughts and prayers. Years ago we had amazing chances to purchase larger dwellings, but weren’t ready financially (though I, perhaps wrongly, blame my husband’s fear of commitment for the stall in home-buying action). We bought this tiny house in 1999, just before prices began soaring in the early 2000s. It’s too late now, as prices have soared again beyond comprehension. I’m on a small fixed income, and my husband is trying to re-start his entertainment business, which was never very lucrative, but it’s what he wants to do.

 

But, isn’t music the important thing for me right now (according to my recent posts here on this blog)? I would have thought so, but since my brother’s been here, it seems less so. Writing and practicing my songs seems an ivory-tower activity now. A luxury I allowed myself during COVID, but which is now moot. Though I’ve recently struggled (successfully) through three public performances, I realize it’s not my favorite thing. Songwriting is what I love, and that calls for privacy. I have two “gigs” coming up, and the thought of doing my own (now old) songs over and over is making me nauseous. I will do it, but only because I’ve been asked and have agreed. I would seem ungrateful if I refused, and I do like SOME of the subsequent attention though I don’t NEED it. Younger performers have more energy and believe in self-promotion and probably NEED the whole scene.

 

I am (relatively) old, and tire more easily, and can’t stay awake more than 16 hours after first arising, and can’t memorize chord progressions and don’t want to stand up while performing. All of this should disqualify me from live performance, but it hasn’t. Perhaps people are humoring me BECAUSE I’m old. There is so much music out there; I have to ask WHY ME?! But if it didn’t happen, I’d probably be asking, WHY NOT ME?!.

 

Meanwhile, my brother has to get back on his feet, societally speaking. I have no tools to make this happen except my caring. I won’t pressure him to “seek help” because that’s been tried, and it simply doesn’t take with some people. I think it has to be organic and sincere and possibly long-term. My siblings are too smart and cynical for their own good. I am not unlike them.