Yesterday, in reading about the winners of the Grammy awards, I ended up focusing on Fiona Apple. I probably spent a good hour of my day, reading various articles about Fiona, her music and her history. On this past Sunday, Fiona Apple won a Grammy award for Best Alternative Music Album (Fetch the Bolt Cutters) and Best Rock Performance (Shameika). She didn’t attend the Grammy Awards Show this year and she explained why, on her Instagram:

“It’s really because I don’t want to be on national television. I’m not made for that kind of stuff. I want to stay sober and I can’t do that sober.”

I have mad respect for that kind of honesty. I read that Fiona Apple once cancelled part of one of her tours, in order to be with her dying dog. She wrote a very loving and eloquent letter to her fans explaining her decision. Fiona Apple has been derided over the years for her blunt honesty, and for not going along with the showbiz game. If I were to focus on one area of the creative arts, which I imagine might be one of the toughest balancing acts, it would probably be for those geniuses in the musical arts. Many musicians are sensitive, empathic poets. Kurt Cobain comes to mind. Bob Dylan actually won a Nobel Prize for literature. “He can be read and should be read, and is a great poet in the English tradition.” (Sara Danius, Swedish Academy) Most musicians are compelled to write their lyrics and their music by uncontrollable forces from deep inside; forces perhaps not even their own. Many musicians love to perform their creations for massive crowds, but not everyone does. I was struck by this quote the other day:

“Writing is something you do alone. It’s a profession for introverts who want to tell you a story, but don’t want to make eye contact while doing it.” – John Green

Talented and discovered musical writers and performers, don’t have that choice of staying semi-anonymous, unlike perhaps writers and sculptors and painters. And because so many people crave the popularity and fortune of famous musicians, those who already have that respect and admiration, are considered ungrateful, and rude, and sometimes even “crazy”, if they do things to stay out of the limelight. Fiona once asked her manager if she cut off the tip of one of her fingers, would that get her out of touring? She was told that all she needed was a note from a psychiatrist.

Whatever you think of her personality, or of her unusual, edgy style of music, to me, Fiona Apple is a genius when it comes to lyrics. I imagine that this is the case because she is so completely unafraid of bare, authentic, brutal truths about herself, and of her experiences. Comedic geniuses do this calling out of the brutal truths of life, all of the time, but comedians hide this fact under veils of light-hearted laughter. People like Fiona, who do the baring of the soul, in a serious, somber tone, are often mistaken for “fragile”, yet really, which method is more brave? Facing the truth about anything, and bringing it into the light, is probably one of the most courageous things a person can do in life, no matter what style they do it. Saying the pure truth is rare, because it is brutally hard to do, even saying the truth to ourselves.

These are the lyrics of the award winning song “Shameika”:

I used to walk down the streets on my way to school
Grinding my teeth to a rhythm invisible
I used my feet to crush dead leaves like they had fallen from trees
Just for me
Just to be crash cymbals

In class I’d pass the time
Drawing a slash for every time the second hand went by
A group of five
Done twelve times was a minute

But Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential

I used to march down the windy, windy sidewalks
Slapping my leg with a riding crop
Thinking it made me come off so tough
I didn’t smile, because a smile always seemed rehearsed
I wasn’t afraid of the bullies
And that just made the bullies worse

In class I’d pass the time
Drawing a slash for every time the second hand went by
A group of five
Done twelve times was a minute

But Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential

Hurricane Gloria in excelsis deo, that’s my bird in my tree
My dog and my man and my music is my holy trinity
Hurricane Gloria in excelsis deo, that’s my bird in my tree
My dog and my man and my music is my holy trinity

Tony told me he’d describe me as pissed off, funny and warm
Sebastian said, I’m “a good man in a storm”
Back then I didn’t know what potential meant and
Shameika wasn’t gentle and she wasn’t my friend
But she got through to me and I’ll never see her again
She got through to me and I’ll never see her again
I’m pissed off, funny and warm
I’m a good man in a storm
And when the fall is torrential, I’ll recall

Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential

Tony told me he’d describe me as pissed off, funny and warm
Sebastian said, I’m “a good man in a storm”
Back then I didn’t know what potential meant but
Shameika wasn’t gentle and she wasn’t my friend
But she got through to me and I’ll never see her again
She got through to me and I’ll never see her again
I’m pissed off, funny and warm
I’m a good man in a storm
And when the fall is torrential, I’ll recall

Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential
Shameika said I had potential

The lyrics tell the story of how important words are to people. Words that encourage, words that notice, words that inspire, are often what keep people going. Sincere words often have the ability to coax out of others, their talents, their gifts, their joys – all which were meant to be shared with this world, making the world a more beautiful place than it ever was before.

Part of the reason why I write this blog is because a previous boss of mine called me “a wordsmith”, and an old neighbor told me she actually looked forward to my emails because she liked how I wrote them, and one of my dearest friends sent me a text one day, telling me that someday I was going to be someone’s favorite author. I have never forgotten these glimmers of inspiration, kindness and direction. I probably never will.

Who in your life has great potential? Who in your life needs to hear it? Who needs to hear they are “a good man in the storm”? Who needs to be told that their unique blend of “pissed off, funny and warm”, lights up your day? We all have been blessed with the “Shameikas” in our lives. And the beautiful thing is that our “Shameikas” probably don’t even know the major difference they have made in our lives and in our actions, by telling us that they “believe in us.” We all have probably also been unwitting “Shameikas” in many other people’s lives. Doesn’t that feel good? I really believe that the Universe mostly uses all of us as “Shameikas” (maybe like angels on Earth) to speak the whispers and the reminders of our life’s purposes and our own joys to us. The Universe can be subtle like that. Isn’t it a beautiful process to be part of, co-creating this beautiful experience we call Life, by supporting and seeing and noticing and admiring and commenting on with gratefulness, all what each of us brings to the Table? No gift should ever go unnoticed. And there are abundant gifts, everywhere, all of the time, from everyone and everything. Let’s speak to them, let’s call the gifts out, and let’s make them shine. Let’s be “Shameika”.

Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

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