Section 1.1: The Wisdom of Others

I've recently come to realize that many of the most poignant phrases from my favorite authors originated not from their own minds, but rather from the clever remarks of friends, family, or even strangers. These writers unearthed gems amidst the chaos of existence, possessing the insight to appreciate their worth and generously share them with the world. This is a remarkable talent that highlights the importance of surrounding oneself with intelligent, witty, and perceptive individuals. In fact, this might be the only valid reason to step outside one's home or engage with others.

I find myself contemplating the idea of joining a group or club, yet I struggle to identify one that would truly appeal to me. Perhaps I could form a band — but musicians? That seems daunting.

I recently encountered a story about singer-songwriter Maggie Rogers and her unexpected rise to fame. It all began with a viral interaction with Pharrell during a class at NYU a decade ago. Rogers still vividly recalls that moment, reflecting on how unprepared and vulnerable she felt. I remember watching that video when it first surfaced; it was breathtaking. The song was not only distinctive, but the raw emotion captured in that moment of exposure resonated deeply.

This led me to revisit the original clip, which still evokes strong feelings and even brings a tear to my eye due to its triumph. Following that, YouTube's algorithm presented me with another video of her performing alongside Marcus Mumford, singing "Fare The Well (Dink's Song)," an old folk tune. The performance itself may not have been extraordinary, but it made me ponder the distinction between artists who write their own material and those who merely interpret others' works.

Until today, I had mistakenly thought that "Fare The Well" was written for the Coen brothers' film "Inside Llewyn Davis," performed by Oscar Isaac and Marcus Mumford. However, it turns out this song has roots that stretch back at least a century, with its original creator lost to time.

As I watched these two talented performers, I realized my preference lies with writers over mere entertainers. While one can appreciate the skill of a performer, I find that extravagant stage productions filled with dancers and flashy lights often diminish the music's substance.

The more embellishments one relies on, whether they be choreography or visual effects, the less confidence they seem to have in the music itself. What I truly seek is a fresh perspective that resonates — a narrative that unveils a deeper truth. That is what compels me to move.

Maggie Rogers embarked on her journey with a form of spiritual awakening, one that transcended traditional faiths. A decade into her career, she enrolled at Harvard's Divinity School to pursue a postgraduate degree in Religion and Public Life.

"I'm not from any particular religious tradition," Rogers shared in an April 8, 2024 New Yorker article. "I woke up one day, and I was famous. I [got] really burnt out. I thought I wanted to quit music. A lot of what I came [to Harvard] to do was to think about how to create a more sustainable structure around a creative practice."

If that’s not a quest for truth, I don’t know what is.

Section 1.2: The Challenge of Truth-Telling

Anne Lamott asserts that as writers, our primary duty is to convey truths, as it is all we truly have to offer. In an era plagued by misinformation and a lack of trust in institutions, seeking truth has become increasingly challenging. Figures such as Edward R. Murrow or Walter Cronkite seem to have vanished, leaving us to wonder where the modern truthtellers have gone.

We aren't finding them amidst superhero flicks, pop music, modern art, or sensationalist news, even though some might argue that insightful work is still being produced. However, I remain unaware of it. This is precisely the issue. Highlighting exceptions while overlooking the overarching trend does little to enlighten us. Who among us is reaching the masses? Where is our modern Shakespeare?

Someone once remarked that the future is already present; it’s just unevenly shared. While Jeff Bezos may have ventured into space, it doesn’t mean that the rest of us can do the same in any meaningful way.

In our current climate, it seems that the most genuine truth-telling emerges from comedy, which is both peculiar and fitting. Historically, court jesters served as the truth-tellers of their time, using humor to disguise uncomfortable realities and mirror society's absurdities. This remains true today, leading to a backlash against comedians from various quarters.

I find comedians to be an endlessly intriguing breed of individuals. Despite being performers, they are fundamentally writers and storytellers, fostering a kinship I feel with them. The mastery of language, timing, and structure is crucial to comedy; without these, it simply cannot exist. Yet, it all begins with truth.

While I possess a small desire to perform, it has never been my primary motivation. My driving force lies in the words and concepts themselves. The written word demands expression; it resonates within us but needs a voice to be conveyed.

The reason we are both drawn to and occasionally repelled by comedians is their capacity to reveal truths about ourselves, often ones we prefer to ignore. Laughter, after all, is a spontaneous reaction to unexpected truths.

Not all truths are pleasant; many can be painful, which is why comedy is a chosen form of entertainment. Some seek truth in religion, while others find it in science. What I appreciate about comedy is its ability to reach us no matter our circumstances. While the journey of truth is universal, the paths we take are not the same. We find humor in what resonates with us as true and surprising.

While the pursuit of truth can lead to wisdom, they are not synonymous. A writer can inspire, and a comedian can provoke thought, but this doesn't always equate to imparting wisdom. Sometimes, it’s simply a humorous take on life that engages our minds, allowing us to connect with others.

It's reminiscent of adventure games where you gather items whose purposes remain a mystery until later. Pieces of the puzzle emerge gradually, as Isak Dinesen once said, "Perhaps he knew, as I did not, that the Earth was made round so that we would not see too far down the road."

A laugh is an involuntary reaction to being surprised by the truth, after all.

We may not yet grasp the implications of the revelations we encounter today or how they will shape our future. We strive to navigate each day, staying alert and aware, with our senses open.

As the saying goes, "More will be revealed."

This often reflects our best hope regarding truth; too much at once can be overwhelming, and we can only handle it in small doses.

As artists, we seek validation from others, desiring recognition for our experiences, which are both uniquely our own and painfully mundane. We long to be acknowledged and celebrated for our individuality without being seen as outliers. It’s quite the balancing act, prompting the question: does mental illness precede the drive to create, or vice versa?

There exists a connection between truth and suffering that often gives rise to art. Many artists I know possess a blend of empathy and narcissism, keenly observing the world's shortcomings while simultaneously feeling secure in their unique roles within it. They are often introverted yet dramatic, yearning for silence because their minds are already a cacophony of thoughts and ideas.

I'm no daredevil, nor am I a clown. I can't train animals or confront tigers. However, I can transform words into something that allows others to see beyond themselves. Perhaps I am more akin to a magician or a somewhat clumsy juggler.

Welcome back, my friends, to the show that never ends. We're thrilled you could join us. Step right in!

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