Jamming

I am angry at myself. Because I am sitting here trying to encourage some girls to join in the Jam Session at the Finissage of UN-known Spaces at Goethe Institute. And they don’t want to. The guys are free styling, and the girls are only comfortable with the songs they have practiced.

I remember this whole thing about running towards our fears and how our biggest joys are waiting for us there. It makes me angry like that stupid Rumi quote with that meadow beyond right and wrong where we can meet and stuff. When I was young, I went to an illegal jam session in Switzerland. It was in an abandoned freight wagon station at the outskirts of town. This is where the Colombian and I did things I can’t speak in public of. This is also where the bar tender told me I had to start drinking and smoking to get my act on. This American guy who was apparently extended family with TBone, the famous blues guitarist, had helped me pick my first electric guitar. A Fender Rhodes. The jam session confused me deeply. I wanted to die. I tried anyway because I was braver then than I am now. Girls (yes I am generalizing) are scared to go wrong and be judged and things and then they stop going to jam sessions and never learn how to do this really. 

It is sad.

There is nothing I can say actually because I have no right to encourage girls to free style and not have the balls myself to go up there and grab the guitar and just try my luck at it. Let’s start encouraging each other to do this. Screw perfection.