"It was called "On Failure" and at least partly concerned why I refused to participate in karaoke. In the car from the airport to the conference site, one of my fellow writers had asked me what my go-to karaoke song was. I didn't have one. Everyone else in the car - two fellow faculty and the conference's organizer - seemed shocked."
"I no longer think that an article of clothing might change my life. I don't believe I can transform my bad habits in the course of a summer in such a way as to cause my enemies pain. I don't memorize long poems under the delusion that someday I will be at a party where the ability to recite much of "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" will come in handy. But when I hear a song I love,"
"There are plenty of talents I'd like to have: painting, acting, close-up magic. I'd like to tap-dance. To dance in general. To draw. To lecture off the top of my head. But I'm fine not doing any of these things. Perhaps I even believe I could, if I applied myself; perhaps one day I'll take lessons. I'll be a diligent student. I will practice, as I never did the flute. Would I trade writing for sculpture or grace on the dance floor? Of course not."
Refusal to sing karaoke stems from dislike of being the physical center of attention, playing pretend, ordinary competition, and social discomfort. Age in the late fifties ends many adolescent delusions about clothing or dramatic self-transformation. Long memorization and performative acts for others no longer hold appeal. Private singing while driving still evokes youthful yearning and imagined adoration. A desire for other artistic talents exists alongside contentment in not pursuing them immediately. The possibility of practicing and learning remains, but established commitment to writing is preferred over trading it for unfamiliar disciplines.
Read at Harvard Gazette
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