My relationship to my avocations is changing. Compared to many I know, I have been blessed to have relatively few Really Big Demands (health, family, job) placed on my time and energy, My job is not physically taxing and also allows me to leave work "at work," so I really do have the freedom to choose what I do with fairly large swaths of time. Within those swaths, however, I do have regular commitments, some of which make me accountable to others and some of which I simply choose for myself. These can be categorized, roughly, as follows:
Commitments in Which I'm Accountable to Others*
- Chanting/singing./reading at St. John
- Playing drums/percussion with Ted Horrell and the Monday Night Card
- Serving on the Board of Directors for the Orthodox Christian Translation Society
Self-Focused Commitments
- Running
- Brewing
- Writing songs
- Reading
As for running, I still like to do it three times per week even as I move away from the competitive aspect of it; the moving is a product of a combination of bad diet (I'm just not in good enough physical shape right now to run fast) and a peace about not needing to define myself by running competitively (I enjoy the regular routine of running way more than I do the focus on planning and training that accompanies races).
I wish that I could say that my need to define myself in relation to how I compare to others has decreased for my other activities like it has with running. It hasn't. Or at least it's still a big part of the mix.
I love playing with Ted's band, and doing so has allowed me to remember how much I enjoy simply playing drums--without having to try to sing at the same time. Musically and personally, it's as good a band situation as one could hope to find. I've also had fun reconnecting with my friends in The Petty Thieves a couple of times in the past year or so, playing covers we all dig.
But a part of me wants to be the one putting his own work out there, and my main outlet for doing that until recently has been with Dewey Starr and its antecedents. The Umsteds and I pretty much ceased being a working band after a fairly unpleasant acoustic opening gig in January. I don't think any one of us wants to revisit a situation in which we play for folks who clearly don't want to listen to us; plus, one of the fellas (Dave Jr) has a pretty sweet cover band gig going with his dad in which the group (1) draws crowds and thus (2) makes money, and all of them have multiple children and their own separate time commitments.
And yet, I have a hard time letting go of the Dewey Starr/Archives/Name du Jour idea. It's pretty selfish, really--Dewey Starr was how I was able to get recordings of songs I'd written before the ears of others. We played a few decent-sized shows; more important to me, though, we had songs played on the radio multiple times, which fed a particular craving I've had as long as I can remember. "Look at me, the shy kid!" slipped into "Aren't I fantastic?" and sometimes revealed itself as a raw " LOVE ME!" All of that lay just below the surface of something that was actually pretty great--extended family playing together just like we did when we were kids. The selfish part may have been there all along, but it was less prominent, less intrusive.
Of course, that's oversimplifying things a bit. Maybe even more than the songwriting credit, I valued the songwriting partnership that Dave Jr and I have had. Collaborating on songs with him has probably been the most gratifying creative outlet I've had. Even this year, we put together two really good songs, and I have no doubt we'll continue to do that as time allows (we seem to be able to work on that even when we're not really in a band together).
But since we have reached a pause, I'm re-evaluating my own songs, and my relationship with creating and sharing and how it is shaped or soured by the desire to be praised. I have songs I'm working on, but the (self-focused) noise is still there, waiting to be engaged, ignored, or denounced.
The noise is there with brewing, too. On the one hand, I really do try to approach each batch of beer I brew with the best plan and information needed to make a truly excellent finished product. I love recipe research and development, I enjoy fine-tuning process choices and variables, and I don't mind being an unsparing critic of the beers themselves, pinpointing flaws and working to eliminate them the next time. But the more I brew, the less willing I am to subject my beers to harsh critique from fellow brewers. When I first joined our homebrew club, I brought samples of nearly every beer I brewed to meetings for critique. I learned a lot from that time, but I also received enough praise to start fashioning myself as a pretty good brewer. And, eventually, I started to resent the critiques and cherry picked beers (and brewers) that I figured would elicit (and provide) mostly praise. And now I rarely bring beers in for critique at all. I do still like to enter the large annual competition, but I do so mainly to WIN, not to get high-quality feedback. I've tied my ego to how much others like--and praise--my beers. Perhaps some of that is due to turnover in the club membership--many of the folks I knew and trusted most are no longer in the club--and also due to the fact that I simply don't want to stay late after meetings, which is when the main tasting occurs. But ego-sparing is involved as well.
And I've not come to a true peace about this. I still harbor fantasies of brewing professionally, even though I remain unconvinced that doing so would make sense for me and my family financially and lifestyle-wise. I still plan to enter multiple beers in the next regional competition even as I wonder how committed I am to the community of homebrewers. Brewing--like running--has become more of a solitary activity. I have friends with whom I brew sometimes, but it's usually easier for me to simply carve out time to brew by myself rather than plan around others' schedules. And I still crave validation from others even as I try to be my own worst, and best, critic.
So, the beers themselves:
Successes
- Munich helles - possibly my favorite beer I've brewed. I used the White Labs Budvar yeast strain and the lightest German base malt I could find, and the end result was delicate and contemplative--and an easy drinker.
- Patersbier - I brewed a few of these, but the best one was basically a Belgian blonde scaled down. A great session-type beer.
- Barleywine - it took a few months of conditioning, but the use of the Belgian yeast strain and the multiple levels of dry hopping appear to have been worth it. A successful experiment.
- Oktoberfest - I think I may have liked it even better had I bottle conditioned it, but it was still darn tasty.
- German pils - this one got better and better as it conditioned (well, at least until it got old). Solid pils, good hop/malt balance.
- Dry stout - simply and roasty.
- "Blonde ale" with whole Cascade hops. It didn't age well, but it was super nice when it was young.
- "Bocce Bock" - helles bock brewed for Italian Fest. I made it slightly less strong than the 2017 version, but it still packed a punch. It did age well, tasting really nice after about 3 months in bottles.
- The dark beer failures - I had both a honey porter and a strong stout get infected, leading to gushers. I'm guessing cleanliness issues did me in both times.
Mixed Bags/To Be Determined
- 100% Brett witbier - it ultimately tasted good and had the muted funkiness I desired, but it's just a bit too odd to drink too often. I like it, but I'm also glad the batch was small.
- Cream ale - I added more sugar than I'd intended, and I get a fruity, almost sherry-like flavor. Not unpleasant, and it accomplished what I intended (an easy drinker to keep at home), but I wish it didn't have that fruity finish.
- Vienna lager (for Pascha) - I'm probably too critical of this one in that folks dug it, but there was a slight harshness (metallic? from the keg?) to the finish, at least at first.
- Czech pils - I ended up not using the yeast I'd planned to use; also, I got a little acetaldehyde flavor, so I may not have let this one finish out like I should have done. Still pretty good, just not a stunner.
- Ordinary bitter - probably more of a success than not--good, if not cravable. Even given the style, I probably could've made it slightly less bitter.
Hey, I may even return to this blog again sometime before the end of 2019. Or I may not. Regardless, Cheers and God Bless.
As a postscript, here are a few things I've learned this year, or at least things that have come into better focus:
- Old memories of a place can be replaced with new memories of the same place. That's true anytime, of course, but, for me, I now have memories of London (and England overall) that are not tied to the drama of the romantic misadventures of a 23-year-old guy. Cindy and I visited England for about a week this fall, and though I did a brief whirlwind tour of the sites near where I stayed back in 1995, that sojourn was only a brief prelude to our own time exploring the City (and other cities) as a couple. I'll never forget the earlier trip, but my reference point has changed, and I can now sing the line from Rachael Yamagata's "I Want You" ("But when I think of London / I can only see your face") for real.
- Generally speaking, and with rare yet definite exceptions, I don't enjoy parties, which seem to be the adult version of finding someone to sit with in the school cafeteria. My favorite thing to do at a party is to have one or two meaningful conversations with individuals, and, frankly, that's better done one-on-one or at least within a small group than at a larger party. (Plus, I've been the Old Guy at a party or two recently, which doesn't have to suck, but still kind of does sometimes.)
- On the introvert/extrovert scale, I think I still rate introvert (in that I replenish energy via solitary activities). But I've noticed that, after awhile, the thing keeping me from being more social is something either like inertia or else like having a crust, or barnacles: while I'm alone, I have a hard time imagining I'd be happy doing something with others, but I nearly always am glad I did if I make the effort to do so. Solitude can be a habit, I guess, and I am a creature of habit, or at least of moving in one direction rather than veering off (it's why distance running is so much more appealing to me than, say, cross-training). I'm not sure I need to really think this through more than that, though finding a balance of solitude/time with others is an ongoing task.
- I'm still afraid to try new things and fail. But I think I'm getting a little better at trying familiar things and failing.
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