appreciating creativity

Monday evening I wandered the South Side in Pittsburgh. There is something about the architecture and layout of the homes in many Pittsburgh neighborhoods that I love. For some reason, the chipped paint, the uneven brick, outdated windows, and weeds growing out of concrete allures me.



There was a father and a young son walking down a lonely alley. The little boy's arm was stretched upward to hold his tall father's hand. Even then, you could see the father leaning over to the side a bit in order to hold the hand of his child. I couldn't help but follow for a few minutes. I've seen many parents with their children. But for some reason, I found this duo to be particularly beautiful and symbolic of innocence and love.



I walked past an abandoned lot. Everywhere around this patch of ground was brick and buildings. But for some reason, this space was empty. Abandoned. It was open and lonely and appeared as if it was just waiting to be filled. I stared, and I stared, and I stepped into the center of this abandoned, gravel covered lot. The space resonated with me. I felt like I understood it with an unfortunate commonality.



When 7:00 hit, I wandered over to Club Cafe. They have an open mic night even Monday to feature musicians. It had been far too long since I'd heard and appreciated live music. When I walked in, there was this eerie sensation about me. As a teenager, I'd romanticized about my life as a young adult, and I'd always pictured myself sitting in dark and lonely cafes while listening to brokenhearted musicians pour out honesty and truth. There I was, like a fulfilled prophecy, sitting in a space like looked just like my fantasies, seated in the same position, drinking the same drink, and listening to musicians echoing what I always imagined they would sing.



I loved this one man in particular. At first, I harbored a bit of a cultural judgment towards him, and he beautifully put me in my place. This young man looked like a corporate suit, minus the suit jacket, that is. I wondered what he could be doing in a place like this, let alone being one of the people to sing. And then, he told his stories before each song. And I realized that just like you cannot judge the poor and the marginalized, you cannot judge the put together or wealthy either.

For we are all people, we are all humanity. We are all just trying to live and survive, to make it and get by. Some of us do that in different ways than others. But we all have souls, we all have passions, and there is beauty in each and every person. When this man in his professional shirt and tie began to sing behind his guitar, his lack of eloquence and simple realism is what made me believe in him. He became my favorite person in the room.




The singers wailed and they cried. They laughed, and they contemplated. An interesting thing about undiscovered or amateur musicians is that they're always apologizing for themselves or their music. They're sorry the song is "shaky," or that they're "still memorizing the lyrics." I wished I could have instilled more confidence in them, because each person was beautiful. One girl brought tears to my eyes as she questioned in her lyrics how she could go back to where she's been, even though it's the most beauty she's ever known.



I was enthralled, and I was grateful. Music is such a simple thing, you know? It's something you can take with you anywhere. At the heart of it, music is free. We've monetized it, but music is a free gift for and within all of us. I appreciated the creativity and vulnerability of these people and the free gift they were offering to me. Because the music was theirs, I felt as though they were offering a piece of themselves to me, a stranger.

This was connection. This was creativity. This was life.