Loving Your Art: The Parable of the Texas Playboys

Note: Seven people answered my poll question about making time for creative endeavors. Six respondents said they made time but not as much as they would like, and one respondent was too busy with other responsibilities. See the results here.

When you were in high school, what did you want to do when you grew up? Are you doing anything like it now?

I am fortunate to live in a town full of musicians. And it's a small town, so most of us have known each other for decades and support each other's endeavors. A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with a friend I've known since fourth grade. We were at a bar where his band had just played, and a band with some other old school friends in it were preparing for their sound check. My friend commented that even when we were teenagers, all of us school chums were somehow involved in making music – whether in the school marching band or choir or after-school jam sessions with friends – and that we knew back then what it was we were supposed to be doing in life. My friend said, "And I'm going to keep doing it until they just won't let me do it anymore. If there's a maximum age, I guess I'm screwed."

The Texas Playboys Reunion, 2011

I thought for a second and asked him, "What about the Texas Playboys?"

Our home town hosts an annual Western Swing festival every spring, and for many years, members of the Texas Playboys, the famous band once led by Bob Wills, held a reunion show during the festival. Of all the musical events in town, that was the one show I never missed. I always loved watching men (and one woman) in their 70s and 80s up on stage playing music as deftly and joyfully as those of us in our 30s and 40s do. I told my friend, "If there's a maximum age, I haven't seen it yet."

My take on creativity is this: Without ascribing any particular religious or spiritual name to it, whatever power made the universe wants to continue making, and remaking, and it uses our hands to do it. Sometimes the energy takes over completely, as in the story of Laurence Olivier, who after receiving praise for a stunning performance on the stage reportedly said, "I know it was great, damn it, but I don't know how I did it!" Other times, the artist has more conscious control over the product, but it takes some kind of inspiration or urge to form experience, emotion and imagination into something for the rest of the world to see. Practice hones an artist's skill so that when the inspiration comes, the artist is more adept at translating it into a shareable work of art.

Creative energy is a boundless force accessible to anyone who remains open to it. And my friend was right -- when we were younger, we easily tapped into that energy as musicians. Before the demands of "real life" set in, you have more time and space to express and explore. But eventually, we all write resumes instead of short stories or make budget spreadsheets instead of sheet music, and we can get closed off from our creative power. Of all the artistic types I know, most work uneventful jobs, many are married with children, but rather than choke on the pabulum of day-to-day life, they remain open to their creativity because they love it. And in a world where wealth and status are glorified, doing something for love is a transcendent act.

It's no small accomplishment to become a responsible adult but remain as enamored with, and devoted to, artistic endeavors as you were when you were young. Which is why the Texas Playboys encourage me, and why I mentioned them to my friend: If people twice our age can joyfully let the music flow through them, there's hope that the rest of us will never find out what the "maximum age" for creativity might be. If you're not doing what you wanted to do when you grew up, it's not too late to start. Here's some proof: