I once pursued an actress romantically. I don’t know why I was so taken with this woman. She was a stunner, but she was also a severely disturbed and conflicted individual in more ways than I could count. I managed to rise above the numerous red flags, or so I thought, but my inability to interpret her mixed signals kept me up nights for a little while. I had a friend in the theatre at the time who wasn’t the least bit surprised by all of the confusion she created in my head.

“She’s an actress.” he told me plainly. He might have had a point. Regardless, I thought that if any man could scale the walls of her mania, it was I. I was less experienced then.

I could never understand what motivated this woman and our “relationship” never happened. Maybe the attraction was rooted directly in the fact that she was a mass of neuroses. I have since shed my penchant for the “unsolvable psycho-sexual Rubik’s cube” type.

The last time I visited her place in New York, I was perusing her library. (I mean that literally.) There were lots of books about theatre and biographies of actors. Near the edge of one shelf was a paperback with a colored binding that didn’t seem to have been cracked: Who Would I Be If I Weren’t So Afraid? It’s funny how I’ve always remembered the title, even though I never read the book. At that time, I had not yet been introduced to the atom bomb of anxiety disorders with which I’m now an expert, but I interpreted the title on two levels almost immediately.

The first seemed to be the obvious meaning. “What is fear keeping me from becoming? What would I do with my life if I wasn’t afraid to change it?” The second is a bit deeper and could be applied to most anything in life. “Because I have so long defined myself as a fearful person, and spend my energies and abilities from the perspective of and in the maintenance of that identity, what opportunities have passed me by?”

With the second interpretation, I think of how a person can spend years or even a lifetime devoted to something he believes he is. I’ve known more than a few “career” neurotics who despite their regimen of prescriptions and years of therapy never seem to improve more than a little. I’ve long believed that these types have simply settled on the identity of a neurotic. Their rituals and relationships all seem to hinge on the management of their neuroses. For them, being a troubled person is like a comfortable old shoe, a lifestyle choice. Often they aren’t even aware of it.

I had a thought this morning that though I don’t define myself as a neurotic, I have lived most of my life in the identity of a musician. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been hot on the trail of some lofty goal with music and records. Learning instruments and writing songs aside, the lifestyle is one of watching for angles, trying to get the inside track, making your own way despite the rejections and heartache and trying to get just one more person to listen to the sounds you seem intent upon making with all of these devices you’ve acquired. Like cops surround themselves with cops, musicians surround themselves with musicians, all nursing their own particular take on the identity. Like the career neurotics, so often things don’t seem to change for musicians. The constant reminders of the unlikelihood of success and the sacrifice of a “normal” life that becomes more burdensome with each passing year finds a good many of them just as stuck.

My rituals and relationships hinge on being a musician. Since I’m constantly occupied by the business of my music and have been for so long, I find that I skip a great number of things that other people seem to prize. I never think about vacations. I seldom think about money. I have no idea what’s happening on television. I haven’t seen a new movie in years. My dreams consist of songs I hope I’ll remember in the morning, in between curious animations involving hot dogs and donuts.

So who would I be if I weren’t such a musician? I have no idea what my life would be like. What the hell would I do with myself? What would I obsess over? What would get me up in the morning and keep me up at night? Being an artist colors my every perception. How would I see the world if I were suddenly relieved of my artistic duty, for lack of a better word? I wonder, but I don’t want to know.

I’ve decided that being a musician is not something that I need to change. However, it’s not all fuzzy dice and bongos. There are plenty of ways to waste your time and talent as an independent artist. I’ve identified a few of mine and have decided to change things around a bit. For instance, I have a bad habit of drinking from the geyser of poison that is the internet when it comes to staying informed about the independent recording industry. It masquerades as useful information, but it’s a black hole. I feel that I should know what’s happening all the time, but so little actually ever changes amongst those who’d rather talk about music than make it. I’m a musician because of what I do. I should not do things because that’s what a musician does. That’s a comfortable old shoe.

In a couple of weeks, many people will be starting their resolutions for the new year. I’ve read that a new year’s resolution is almost designed to fail because it puts the starting line at some meaningless chronological event. Any change you want to make in your life must be made because you’re ready to make it, not because you happen to be buying a new “Serial Killers: Day-by-Day” calendar. But far be it from me to discourage the value of convention if it happens to work for you. What I’m proposing is this: start a resolution now. Now is a good time to get into a new habit (or break an old one). Try it on for size. Call it a dress rehearsal. If you screw it up, you have a couple of weeks to try again before the actual starting point and you won’t have to go through that – Oh well, screw it. It’s January 9th and I’ve already blown it - sabotage move. Forget the Mardi Gras approach to life change. You don’t have to wait until January 31 to get it all out of your system. Whatever you’re changing probably needs to get out of your system now.

I’m gonna miss those music business bloggers. Maybe in the time I normally waste on them, I can write more songs. Nice!

I suppose that most people have heard the adage about a journey of a thousand miles beginning with a single step. I’m guessing that somebody (the internet seems to claim it was Confucius) uttered that little gem at a time when a thousand miles seemed like a pretty sizable distance. I guess if all you can do is walk…

But I’m not talking about the first step. The first step is the historic one. Before you took the first step, you probably got a good night’s sleep. You probably had a good breakfast. You were at home and you had comforting familiar things around you. Your batteries were fresh and your lunch was packed.

And I’m not talking about the destination either. The destination is the place of your dreams. The destination is blissful. After all, you’ve arrived at that magical place and in the process, you’ve conquered something, your doubt, the forest of flames (to use a Utopia reference), your parole officer, something.

No, I’m talking about, say, the 26th step of mile 401. Wow, that one sucks. No one writes proverbs about that one. You look around you and nothing is familiar. You look behind you and you definitely can’t see your house anymore. Your feet are killing you and you’re nowhere near your destination. You’ve eaten your last marmalade sandwich. You might not even be sure about the last couple of turns you made.

The next step is the ultimate test of your will. I’m starting to think that this one is more important than the first. At this point, your mind starts to wander on you and your perseverance and your fortitude can easily go with it. The destination cannot drive you now. It’s empty of promise because nothing you do at this moment will make it to deliver for you. You might even be angry at it for failing you. So…

You can turn back, but that would mean a whole lot of wasted time and energy. No good.

You can go forward, but nothing is going to be looking up for quite a while. You want something now. What’s the point?

Sitting on the side of the road won’t do any good either. You were sort of doing that at home before you got into this mess, but now you might not even know where you are.

You’re stuck.

What is needed is a change of perspective. At this point, the journey becomes merely about you, still walking after all of this time. Your only job at mile 401 is to keep walking. There’s only one way I know to do that: Start counting again.

It seems that a journey of 599 miles also begins with the first step. It’s less romantic than the thousand mile one and it takes the strength you didn’t know you had. Whether you knew it or not, it’s what you signed up for at the beginning. Only now it’s a shorter walk.

As humans, we learn to do many things that I consider to be “unnatural.” Consider the ways that one has to move and contort to play a musical instrument. Sometimes I wonder how human hands can be expected to reach around piano keys at certain angles, but eventually I find ways to play crazy chord inversions. People can adapt to performing amazing or even shocking feats with their bodies. I have a friend who enjoys freak shows. He took me to the Meadowlands Fair to see the freak show once. I still remember the guy who could make a screwdriver disappear into his nose. How do you get the hang of that? Probably by the same process by which the electric bass became an extension of my hands. After so many years, I couldn’t tell you how it is that my hands fall on that instrument the same way every time. Each finger of my right hand comes to rest on its own string every time I pick up the bass. No sound comes from that instrument unless I choose to make it. If I had half that control on the piano…

If you’ve ever learned to play a musical instrument , you might be familiar with the experience of mastering of a physical task. Playing a musical instrument becomes very instinctive over time, but when many people first attempt to make a sound on a new instrument, it can feel as if their hands are not even their own. Even after becoming proficient, playing something new can feel the same way. What always fascinated me was a phenomenon that I still experience. After choosing a single musical passage and playing it repeatedly, I might get my hands to do it, but it won’t be effortless. However, if I stop practicing and do something else, or go to sleep, the next time I attempt the same passage, it seems to come from anther place within me and it flows. The mastering of that movement begins to take root. The fascinating part is that I’m not really doing anything differently. It’s just that suddenly my subconscious starts to own it. I’ve heard it called “muscle memory.” I think there’s something more to it though, because a similar phenomenon often occurs in my life from a spiritual and emotional perspective. I feel like that’s happening now.

I write often about living well and living better. I feel that one of the best parts of who am is how motivated and active I am in realizing my ambitions and reaching my goals. Still, despite my lifestyle of productivity and results-oriented attitude (whatever, man), there are times when I feel I’m getting nowhere. It can happen with music, relationships, health, just about anything. It’s a dreadful reminder sometimes that I’m actually human.

Then, for no reason that is immediately apparent to me, I feel that I’m turning a corner. It’s like practicing a tough riff on the piano. I go to sleep and the next time I sit down, there it is. Similarly, I work as diligently as I can at achieving my goals, doing the same things, but I wake up one morning and everything seems more focused. My goals become more achievable. The way to success seems clearer. I’ve done nothing new, but somehow in my sleep, I’ve crossed an invisible boundary that leads to a turnaround. The frustrations that I may have been experiencing no longer weigh on me. I get new energy seemingly out of thin air. I have to believe that it’s from that same place, the one where new riffs are stored until they can flow without effort.

I’m eager to reap the rewards of my perseverance. But even during these positive periods, I must stay focused on the task at hand. I know that if I start daydreaming about the finish line, this mysterious new energy will float away like smoke.