This one is a little raw. Glenn Hansard's death made me look hard at how I spend my time. I'm nearly 50, and the gap between the life I imagine and the life I'm living.
A heads up that this one is a little raw. I’m ok with it being out there, but it’s not how I necessarily feel today. It was in response to the news of Glen Hansard’s death, and the questions it prompted in me about my own life. Good questions that are ok to dwell on and process. But I’m also not wallowing in them. Even today, a day later I’m in a different head space with different worries and joys.
Glenn Hansard died, and I couldn't stop thinking about how he used his time.
Not the celebrity side of it. The shaggy beard, the old Irish poems, the Oscar, the mythology that accumulates around a certain kind of artist. Those things are real, but they're not what got to me. What got to me was simpler: from everything I could see from the outside, he showed up for his life. He loved the people around him. He felt genuine joy in performing and making music, whether he was on a street corner or a stage. As long as he had a guitar in hand and a song in his mind, he was happy. His lyrics show that he understood darkness and sadness, but he knew how to channel those into his art so they didn't spill all over the people he cared about.
It didn't matter whether he was on the street or the stage, as long as he had a guitar in hand and a song in his mind, he was happy.
I'm sure he wasn't perfect. Probably terrible at remembering birthdays. Maybe left a trail of broken hearts because he committed too fully in relationships and then had to leave before he drowned everybody. I don't know. But those feel like the ordinary human failures, not the kind that accumulate into a wasted life.
I don't imagine Glenn Hansard played a lot of Fortnite. I don't imagine he spent hours scrolling social media, or lay awake worrying whether what he was creating was good enough to share.
I do those things. I fiddle with video games. I drift through social media. I edit podcasts for people where almost nobody listens, and the ones who do don't know I'm involved. And I want to be clear: this isn't about vanity. I'm not aching for credit or applause. It's just that this is where my energy goes. This is what fills the hours.
I just want to create. Not for applause. Not for accolades. Just the thing itself.
What I actually want is something I haven't been able to make yet. I want to pick up a guitar and sing a song in a way that gives someone an emotion — any emotion — besides what the hell is that guy doing? I want to create something that moves people rather than embarrasses them. I'm nearly 50, and I don't know how to get there. I don't even know where to start.
If I died tomorrow, the legacy for my kids would be: a house that's safe, a life that's financially secure-ish, a comfortable platform to stand on. Those things matter. I mean that. But there's a layer missing underneath all of it, some sense of a deeper home where they could feel safe enough to explore and create and feel things fully. I haven't built that. I'm not sure I know how.
I just want something more, but I don't know what it is.
What I'm most afraid of isn't that I'll never find it. It's something worse: that I'll find it and it won't be enough. That no matter what I'm allowed to participate in or achieve, I'll just remain empty. That I'm the kind of person who doesn't know how to be joyful, and that people can feel that, and that they'd rather not be around it.
That fear sits underneath everything else. It's worth naming, at least. I'm not sure what to do with it yet.
