Uncertainty

To put it mildly, life is rife with uncertainty.  Every minute of every day brings mild and minor levels of the stuff, and as any of us peer a week, a month, a year, or a decade into our futures, we can feel the gathering forces of uncertainty laid out before us, unifying to form a screen past which we can't see what waits for us.

This subject has been much on my mind of late.  With a baby due in just about six months, I've got the universe delivering uncertainty by the truckload on a daily basis.  Of course there are the mundane questions of uncertainty -- Will it be a boy or a girl?  Will it be human? Will it have enough fingers or toes to get by in base ten math? -- but the ones that worry me more are the ones of child raising, of educating and guiding our child-to-be, and just the ones that accompany each and every one of us in life -- uncertainties that will not only plague our child but, by extension, my wife and I.

And regardless of these doubts swirling about in my head, I sit down at the computer every day to compose ... and fresh every day I come to the realization that I am uncertainty's master, and it need not trouble me. 

Indeed, aren't all Creatives masters of uncertainty?  We sit down to a blank page or a blank canvas or an empty stretch of space or time, little knowing with what we'll fill it.  And yet we move forward, blundering our way in the dark much of the time, and we fill that emptiness with life, with emotion, with substance.  Emptiness takes on form, and form takes on life, and by our own hands have we made the uncertain certain.

I open up Finale to compose a new piece, and I have, by program default, about 30 empty measures staring back at me, with a nearly-infinite number of ways to fill them.  Uncertainty leers from behind every bar line, daring me to impose order on what I see before me.  So, what do I do?  I blunder forward, throwing notes into measures, a bit slapdash at first, but with more finesse and confidence as the piece takes shape.  I also come to realize that there are no mistakes -- something I don't like or feel to be in error can always be corrected with the right amount of effort and intent. 

Even with a finished piece sitting before me, uncertainty hasn't left the scene.  For one who tries to make his living from composing, writing the piece isn't enough -- I need to get it published.  At least with composing a piece there is some small amount of certainty -- I know I'm putting notes into measures.  With publishing, the uncertainty lurks in a thousand shadows, and until I send my piece off into those shadows, I don't know what hides there in the darkness, if anything. 

But then, when a piece gets published, I'm out of the Forest of Uncertainty, right?  Regrettably, no.  A piece being published means that I and at least one other person on this Earth like the piece -- two people out of seven billion or so.  Having a piece in print is no guarantee that others will like it, that it will sell well, or that it won't ruin my reputation and career as a composer.

Uncertainty is as constant a companion in my life -- or the life of any Creative -- as oxygen and sunlight.  Much like a man stranded in a rowboat at sea, I strike out in the direction that seems best to me; even upon finding land, however, there's no guarantee of safety and security.  If you get rid of the sunburn and potential for sand fleas, the analogy is pretty much identical to what a Creative faces every day.  And despite that, I undertake the journey time and again, perhaps with a small bit more confidence each time, because I've made the trip before and survived.

So, is there a Great Big Unknown on my horizon?  Oh, yes. 

Do I know how to deal with it?  Yes.  Yes, I do.

But that doesn't mean I'm not still fearful ... and that's what we'll talk about next Wednesday....