by Robin Munson
Long, long ago in the faraway kingdom of Pittsburgh three little princesses were groomed for “The Business”. The King and Queen — my parents — were frustrated singers and songwriters. We were schlepped from voice teachers to dance teachers to piano teachers and acting teachers. We made command performances in our living room on a regular basis, singing standards from the American songbook — Rogers and Hart, Gershwin, Cole Porter, Lerner and Lowe. . . (NOTE: It’s impossible for me to say whether I would have wanted a life in The Business with different parents, but that’s a topic for another day.)
At 3, I dreamed of one day being a ballerina. But not all little girls have the requisite long legs and athletic coordination for the Ballet Russe, so by the time I was ten years old, it was pretty clear that wasn’t going to happen.
My mother organized a group of girls including my sisters and me. We sang at country club luncheons and for charity events. I think in the five or so years we were together I made a grand total of $40.00. (Yes, we got paid, but after expenses, I think we each made maybe $2.50 per show.) That’s when I understood: You have to have a day job!
I decided to keep taking dance lessons because I now wanted to become an actress. But at the tender age of 15 at an intense little acting school in Greenwich Village run by a stern, no-nonsense woman named Renata Mannhardt (The name says it all) we were warned that if we chose to become actors and actresses she did NOT want to hear about us having a girlfriend or a boyfriend or (heaven forbid) getting married. She said , “When you are an actor you are married to the Theater!”. And for that entire summer, that’s what I was: Married to the Theater. Well, I crossed acting off my list.
Predictably, at 16 started listening to Joan Baez. I pleaded for a guitar and began to learn folk ballads. I listened to Laura Nyro and learned to play all her songs on the piano. I listened to Joni Mitchell and Peter Paul and Mary. I thought, “Oh!!! I want to be a dark, brooding, soulful, and tortured chanteuse!” Naturally, I began writing songs.
I won’t bore you with the details,but I learned over decades of trial-and-error, heartbreak, and soul-crushing rejection that if I had talent, it was in the ear of the beholder – and I couldn’t find many beholders. And it really didn’t matter much anyway. Because it turned out that what my parents had told me over and over was true: “You have to be in the right place at the right time.” God, how I hated hearing that! How I hated knowing that!
So, Creativity 101. Lesson I for me, anyway:. Follow your dream, and if it leads you down a blind alley to a dead end street, maybe you find a new dream that leads to somewhere you never thought you would wind up. I must have re-imagined my dream a dozen times. Each time I refined it, reshaped it, reconsidered it, I found myself in strange new circumstances. It was scary. But it was never dull. The creativity isn’t only about the song, or the symphony, or the poem, or the painting. Step back and take another look. You are creating your life.
Dear Allinthesong,
I’m glad to hear you can relate! Sometimes it seems that the hardest part of being a creative type (I really don’t like saying that because I think everyone is creative in their own way – but not everyone chooses to make that creativity the focus of their work.) But again, the hardest part seems to be a sense of isolation. So much alone time is spent in the arts – So it’s really good to have a sense of community with others walking down the same path. At the very least you can hear, “Me too!” That can be very comforting. Thanks for your comment.