Inspired by what comes naturally

In late November this year, I watched my brother perform at the Paris Cat Jazz Club. I sat there, cocktail in hand, with the biggest grin as I watched him do what he does best, what he loves and what comes naturally: celebrating the joy of music. He was singing with a jazz trio led by Bob Sedergreen, an Australia’s jazz pianists whose contribution to music has been recognised through the accolades of many audiences, peers and official awards. And as my brother sung, there was great joy in the room. His own joy, which was overflowing as he gave all he had to what he loves. My family’s joy, mixed with pride, as we watched him perform and do what comes naturally. And everyone else’s joy as the music tickled their souls.

The ancient Egyptians believed joy and music should welcome children upon their birth, which is one of the reasons why they celebrated a child god whose divinity presided jointly over both music and joy. My brother was born four years before my birth, and so I was not there to witness it and know the detail first hand, however, I have no doubt there was great joy at his birth. And music would have always been a part of his welcome to life, even in the womb, as our mum loves to sing. Growing up, I have fond memories of the music she always had playing either through the radio or record player. She was always singing along to the music as she went about her weekend. Cleaning and cooking, ironing, playing cards or entertaining friends and family, there was always music. I am sure mum sung to us way before our little lungs breathed the air of this world. And so it was, my brother was born to music and for music. Not only was he the effortless musician of our family, he was also the one who had the greatest love for it. And we all loved music a hell of a lot, so his passion for music was extraordinary and extreme. And we all benefited from it. Greatly.

I have always loved hearing my parents reminiscing about my brother’s love of music, sharing the story of how at the very young age of three (or perhaps even younger) he would climb out of his cot to put a 7 inch record on to play. Mum and dad would be woken up to the sound of someone singing ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo / My dame has lost her shoe…’ and they would know their firstborn son was awake. Not only does my brother have music in his veins, he also has a love for the music making machines. This record player at three, one of his first obsessions. There were many more to follow. Reel-to-reel tape decks, gramophones, record players, radios, tape recorders, amplifiers and anything else which could play music.

His love even extending to movie making machines. He would purchase Super 8 movies to play on our parent’s Super 8 projector, the blind of his bedroom window the perfect movie screen, the piano stool the perfect home cinema seat. My brother was ahead of his time turning his bedroom into a home cinema way before any developers starting including them in house plans. I have such delightful memories of those movie nights, where my sisters and I lined up, bought pretend tickets and sat in anticipation to watch a carefully selected movie for us to enjoy. One of my favourites Fantasia, which we watched again and again to the hum and crackle of the Super 8 projector. Captivated by the visuals and the music score. If he screened any silent films, my brother would use his reel-to-reel machine to match some music to add drama or humour to whatever was happening on the screen. One time the movie didn’t turn out quite as my brother expected. Choosing a movie about giraffes he thought we would be entertained by a movie showing these beautiful graceful animals in nature, only to be shocked as we witnessed the terrible slaughtering of these animals by animal poachers. Again and again. Although not what we were expecting, and hard to watch, it showed us a side of life we didn’t know about. It gave us our first taste of injustice and a desire for justice. Those film nights were an education, about life and creativity, and the joy of entertainment. And music was always a dominant part of any film we watched, the music score bringing to life the action and bringing to the surface our emotions as we watched each movie.

As well as being a collector of music equipment, my brother has always been a collector of music itself. Sheet music to play on the piano or sing to, records of all sizes, including his favourite 78 records, tapes which he had so many of in his bedroom cupboard, all lined up and labeled, categorised in genre. The bulk being jazz, something he had a love for from forever, from before he could walk and talk I imagine. I always loved handling those old records as we looked through them, astonished at how heavy they were, intrigued by the music of times past. And I always loved looking at my brother’s tape collection, running my hand along them, reading their titles, astonished at the sheer number of them. When I was young, there was nothing in the house in multiples that even came close to his tape collection. It just seemed like an amazing achievement to have so many, and each one a tally of his love for music. A visual reminder of how much he loved music. His love shown in those tapes, one after the other, all lined up like soldiers.

My brother and jazz go hand in hand. He was my jazz education growing up. I grew up to the beautiful voices of many talented black women singing about love, life, loss, racism and death. My favourite artist was Billie Holiday, the timbre of her voice carrying the story of her life and what she had seen. I am sure my brother’s love for jazz and the women who sang it, was why as a young child I hunted the toy store for a black barbie. I was thrilled when I found her, and cherished her like no other toy I owned. She is one of the few mementos from my childhood I still have to this day. What she represented, not lost on me as a young child, growing up in a small country town. The jazz singers my brother listened to, their stories he would share with me as he devoured their biographies, and the films we watched about them, or which they featured in, was my education into American culture and the many injustices people faced. And my brother sang them with them, as he played his records and tapes, and those tunes trickled out of his bedroom, down the hallway and found me.

My brother plays the piano beautifully, effortlessly. Growing up, as I practised the piano with very little reward and watched him play with very little practise those difficult and complex classical pieces at concerts met with great applause, I understood what it meant to be born with a gift, to have an innate talent. To be good at something, naturally. My older brother is a natural musician. He always has been and always will be. He was born to spread the joy of music. Through any instrument, including his voice. It was so wonderful to see him embrace his gift and share his talent with us all. Watching him on stage, listening to his silky tones, and grinning at his mastery as he delivered a pretty damn impressive jazz scat.

Listening to him sing and seeing him do it with such enjoyment, reminded me of the importance of doing what you love, of embracing what comes naturally. Of this kind of joy driving us to do this kind of thing more. Of it never being too late to start doing more of what we love doing.

This reminder came to me again this morning as I lay in bed reading one of the text books for my meditation course, Eric Harrison’s book Foundations of Mindfulness. I was prompted to think about the importance of paying attention to how much time we spend doing things and what drives us to do it.

‘So, how many hours a week do you spend on the following: Work? Social relationship? Entertainment? Exercise? Information gathering? Deliberate learning? Eating? Distraction? Rest? Does the balance feel right, or at least good enough? Once you know how you spend your time and energy, you can look at the emotion and valence and ask, “Why?”

In each case, it could be any one or combination of the following emotions and motivators: pleasure, fear, love, ambition, desire, excitement, duty, shame, empathy, escapism, fantasy, self-pity, pride, habit, guilt, boredom, or fatigue.’ Eric Harrison

At the coming of this new year, in which we turn the corner into a new decade, I encourage you to make a simple resolution to yourself. To be inspired by what comes naturally. To take the time throughout the year to notice where you spend your time, and actively make a choice to do more of the things that bring you joy. And to find ways of making them a priority in your life.

Inspired by my brother’s beautiful voice, his love of jazz and the joy he gifted to us all the night of his performance, I am going to spend more time enjoying my writing and stretching myself as a writer by spending more time with those who love to write, and learning from them. In the same way my brother stretched himself as a performer by spending time with those who also love jazz and are seasoned performers. Learning from each other and those who have walked the path before us is the most natural way of learning. It is how children acquire language and the many skills they need in life. My resolution has started early, and I have already booked in for a writing course with writer Spiri Tsintziras to explore the art of memoir writing in February. I am really excited to see where this course, and others I find throughout the year, will take me. To see what I can learn from their experiences, from their craft, from their stories.

Grateful for 2019 and hopeful for 2020 I welcome the new year with an open heart and a sense of excitement. I especially look forward to making more space for the things which come naturally, and celebrating my friends and family as they make time for the things they love doing in life.