‘Tis the Season.
I’M REALLY getting sick of stuff. As a dyed-in-the-wool, discerning, all-American compulsive materialist, this has been (and continues to be) a remarkable—if slow, awkward and even sometimes painful—awakening. It didn’t help that I grew up next to and alongside Disneyland, where all things fantasy become embodied in material perfection, and where the future promises an endless stream of brighter and better stuff—the stuff of salvation and happiness.
I am aging out of that delusion, to the extent I now see virtually every object I purchase as toxic landfill—not abstractly in some distant future, but actually when I purchase it. This is not pleasant and the fact it is true doesn’t offer me any self-righteous relief. It is distressing, especially in this season of convulsive giving and/or buying.
WHAT BROUGHT ON this recent convulsion was a purchase I needed to make—one more thing—to produce my hopeful climate singalong marching song. My micro studio will only hold four “singalong singers” at a time, so I needed four headphones so they could each sing along without leaking the recorded music tracks into the mics. I had three. I needed four. So, I acquired more landfill and burned more fossil fuel driving across town—in insane holiday traffic—so I could complete an optimistic song about embracing change to live on less consumption and produce less waste.
And, trapped for two hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I also managed to miss the Fridays for Future event I organize every week downtown. Driving home, instead, with a shiny new box of toxic waste.
The good news is the headphones all worked and I’ve got the first group of four singers “in the can.” Through the voodoo of digital audio, it sounds more like a dozen. Three more foursomes and I’ll have a chorus to rival any hot August nights tent revival service in history. And maybe inspire its own global spiritual awakening…
Audio Sneak Preview:
First verse, first virtual chorus, first mix. Song complete, maybe the end of January?
And, in case you haven’t heard or seen.
So there is hope. But it won’t come easy. Not to me anyway…