Somewhere In The World

On Isolation Blues, Imaginary Friends & Finding Inspiration Where You Can Get It

In traditional cultures, stories passed down through generations were how we learned.

The current educational model tends to remove the personal and distil information into a one size fits all factoid. But while facts can guide and inform us, it’s still stories that illuminate, that provide hope and inspiration. Empathy, connection and understanding builds stronger, smarter souls. 

Mentors are hard to come by. But oh, how we need them. I am always hungry to learn, keen to draw encouragement from and witness those that are forging ahead in directions I’m still dreaming of and sometimes I need to glean those moments from strange places. Or from total strangers.

When we first moved to America some years ago, I was no longer surrounded by my usual community and found myself feeling a little more isolated than I had back home. I’m a natural loner so I didn’t really mind but I soon realised that I was gravitating to replacing my regular communications with listening to other creative people engage with each other on podcasts and it had become a balm to my soul. I loved being amongst these conversations, that sense of relating to their experiences. I generally wished I could join in. I wanted to interject, to respond, to agree or disagree, to query, to nod sagely, to shake my head in disbelief. To converse! 

I found a similar camaraderie on Twitter, sometimes just reading the little repartees between artists who were friendly with each other, rarely having them myself. I eagerly read conversations between incisive, engaged, forthright and funny music writers. I was outside looking in. And in lieu of real friends I began to gather pearls of wisdom from other people’s public private conversations. I made imaginary friends. And just like with real friends, I took heart from their wisdom, their trials and tribulations, their successes, the things they told both me and the world. Feeling seen and understood are not always easy to come by, especially for a weirdo like me, and I was hungry for it.

When I listened to singer songwriter Margo Price laughing on a podcast about inventing a male manager called John Serrato in her early days to find her gig bookings when she was getting no response from venues trying to do it alone, it made me laugh and it made me feel better because I was also getting no response from venue bookers. Margo’s experience and that fact that she had moved well beyond that frustrating place heartened me. She was an unsigned artist working the clubs in Nashville that I had discovered and related to while trying to get the lay of the land and find likeminded artists and venues on social media when we landed in Georgia. Watching her go on to sign to Jack White’s Third Man Records soon after, then record and perform with all my heroes like Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, Dolly Parton and Lucinda Williams and do all the stuff I longed to do, made me feel a weird sense of pride for her. I lived a little vicariously through her ever growing successes. When I read on Twitter that Loretta Lynn had called Margo up to offer her name to her baby, a couple of real tears may have snuck out of my eyes. That just sounded like a fantasy I couldn’t even begin to dream up, and it made me so happy that someone I connected with so strongly had got to experience the joy of that. I had developed a lopsided imaginary friendship with her. We loved all the same stuff. I knew she’d love me back if we ever got a chance to talk and compare notes.

On another podcast I heard a woman describe how as a dyslexic child she had struggled terribly at school, hiding in the bathroom rather than face the shame of the classroom. She said when she heard Cher reveal in an interview that she was dyslexic, it gave her something to hold on to, and Cher became an imaginary mentor to her. She would hear Cher’s voice in her head all the time, pushing her forwards, telling her to ‘get out of the stinky bathroom’ and be brave, go back to class. She knew if Cher could do it, she could do it. 

Journalist Eva Wiseman wrote about ‘parasocial relationships’ and ‘fantasy friendships’ in The Guardian. She said: ‘I often reply to Cher on Twitter. “HAVE A GOOD DAY!” she’ll scream glamorously and my thumbs, quite independently, will type: “You too xx.” “Morning!” I’ll reply, or: “Night!” because despite never having met her she is my close personal friend and mentor, and her presence in the world – her attitude, politics, undying dazzle – is a constant reminder to me that such energy is possible.’

I read Olivia Newton John talking about how she felt Karen Carpenter and John Denver were her ‘spirit guides’, and she would call on them for strength and power before she went onstage.

Singer-songwriter and author Roseanne Cash was too nervous to show her early writing efforts to anyone so she ‘created a perfect reader in my head’, and used her imagination to read and experience her words as they would, gaining helpful insight. There’s such power in creating what you need to fill a hole. In her book ‘Composed’ she talks about clipping an article with words of wisdom from Linda Ronstadt that fired her up and that leading to a dream that opened things up even deeper.

I choked up more times than I care to admit listening to the conversation between Brandi Carlile and Tanya Tucker and Rick Rubin on how Tanya’s latest groundbreaking record got made, on how Brandi’s abiding love for Tanya - whose songs she’d been singing since she was a little kid -  willed it into existence. On how lost and disconnected Tanya had been feeling and how the connection she found with Brandi reinvigorated her in so many ways. I was so inspired by the things they were saying, I had to run for a pen and paper to catch all my ideas, ideas that were turning into songs in my head as I listened. We all presume everybody else has got it all going on and knows exactly what they’re doing and what they’re worth but it gets clearer to me that we’re all swimming in the same murky seas. On Twitter, I saw Nashville’s Women Of Music Action Network note about the same interview: ‘In the last five minutes, you can hear Tanya Tucker... THE Tanya Tucker... say “Sometimes I just feel so inadequate.” A reminder that imposter syndrome impacts many and also maybe the importance of bringing those flowers now.’ 

When I heard Carly Pearce talking about cleaning Air BnBs for years in Nashville while all of her friends and contemporaries such as Kacey Musgraves shot past her on the road to success, I knew exactly what she was talking about and the way her perseverance paid off made me feel like anything was possible.

Hearing that showrunner Matthew Weiner carried a dog eared copy of his ‘Mad Men’ concept and script everywhere in his briefcase for eight long years before finally getting any traction gave me a little extra faith in the idea that if something’s worth doing, the right time will happen. 

Songwriter Shelly Peiken (who wrote ‘What A Girl Wants’ amongst some other classics) talked about dealing with losing momentum in her career and not knowing how to move forward, so she wrote a book about songwriting, which turned into an audio book, which much to her surprise was then nominated for a Grammy. She started performing shows in people’s backyards and through that found a whole new community and sense of connection and inspiration. She found doing things differently opened doors for her. I loved the idea that if something’s not working for you, change it. 

Doris Lessing states ‘That is what learning is. You suddenly understand something you’ve understood all your life, but in a new way’. Sometimes we need to hear something in story form to really get it. We inhale and ingest, rework the knowledge we find on these travels in our own image, to make sense to us.

When I hear a beloved independent artist like Jason Isbell (brilliant article here on Jason and Nashville) talking about making a point of giving less known but hugely talented solo female artists opening spots on big shows and taking them on tour, actively presenting and introducing them to their fans, I feel overwhelming grateful and inspired to witness it. These and other intentional acts of positive resistance to the established systems make a huge difference in a lesser known artist’s career trajectory. It’s an exhilarating feeling to see all the hope and goodwill that is generated from the uplifting of others. Hope is so important. There is a ever growing, powerful and inclusive sisterhood and artistic community I’ve been watching evolve in Nashville - from my spot on the sidelines on the other side of the world - that are changing the entrenched old school ways of the music business, that are breaking down barriers and ensuring there’s room for everyone to shine. Those at the top are reaching down to lift their talented friends up where they belong and illuminating their talents to a wider audience and its just a rare and magnificent movement to see happen in real time. To see that idea that artists need to compete with each other for limited space at the top of the ladder laughed out of town and space lovingly carved out for all to thrive and blossom together. Things are changing there and artists are leading the way. And I’m here, a grateful bystander, listening and learning, feeling thrilling waves of exultation for every door that they are collectively kicking in, watching it play out from within my own little world. I never believed that music had be a cutthroat and dog-eat-dog business, I’ve always thought there was plenty of cake to go round. 

It’s not just in stories of success or innovation or sticking it to the man or how dreams were achieved and mountains climbed that I find solace. I love hearing artists talk about trusting their instincts, even when the whole world seems to be telling them not to. Many moons ago, I read the saying ‘find what you love and let it kill you’ on a pink fluorescent rock’n’roll sticker. It struck a nerve. For me thats an endless curiosity about songs and the people who make them and sing them. 

I loved hearing Lucinda Williams tell this little story on a podcast: ‘I remember working on “Car Wheels on a Gravel Road,” working with Rick Rubin – it was supposed to come out on his label, American. Long story short, I sent him some of the songs, and one of them was “Drunken Angel.” He thought it was too long. He said, “You need to take out a couple of verses.” I said, “Like hell!”. Lucinda trusted her own instincts, and I thank the song gods for it! Its adds another arrow to my quiver of accumulated knowledge to ‘stick to your guns’. 

There’s an entire imaginary ‘choose your own adventure’ university of masterclasses by the people whose words you can draw strength and inspiration and sustenance from there for the taking, right in your podcast app, or on old Youtube interviews or in New Yorker profiles or hiding in plain sight in the lyrics of songs. If you seek you can find. If you listen you will learn. Let the way find you. When you feel alone - and let’s face it, we’re all pretty hunkered down and isolated right now - put a cuppa on or crack a bottle of wine and invite some imaginary friends over.