Our Place In The World

I was watching Saturday Night Live a few months ago in which the episode’s musical guest, as is almost always the case, was someone with whom I was unfamiliar. He was a young hip hop artist who had burst onto the national scene relatively recently. He was also, it turns out, a pretty good actor, and the writers cast him in a number of scenes where he held his own with the seasoned cast members. I enjoyed watching him. I found his presence sweet and surprisingly humble and quite genuine. He never seemed like he was trying too hard, which would be easy to do given the circumstance.

Which is why, when it came time for him to perform one of his hits, I decided to pay more attention than I usually do. When I was young and I always knew the musical guest, I would watch their performance with curiosity whether or not I liked the band or singer – which, to be honest, I usually didn’t. I was, and still am, pretty fussy about music. But it was interesting to see live the artists I’d only heard on the radio or watched on MTV. On this evening, I was interested only because I liked the man himself, and wanted to see how that sweet humility translated to his songs.

It being hip hop, the piece was largely lyrically driven. I sat forward on my couch as he started in. It took me only a moment to recognize that not only didn’t I like the song, I absolutely hated it. It hated its point of view, its bragging, its lack of self-reflection, its relentless shallowness, and I hated that he sounded exactly like every single hip hop artist I’d ever heard. Where was he? Where was the sweet guy who was so genuine in the sketches? I didn’t know, but he kept singing, and I kept listening hoping the song would change – which, of course, it didn’t.

And then he was done, and the crowd went nuts. I sat back on my couch as I listened to the whoops and cheers and the singer raised his mic in acknowledgement. I remembered how angry I used to get when I was young and I’d hear the loud applause after some band I loathed had finished one of their lousy songs. What was wrong with the world? And where was my place in it? I could still feel a twinge of that, but the show faded to a commercial and by the time it was back on, there was the singer in a new sketch being his charming self again. I decided to go back to liking him despite his song. It felt better and liking him seemed like my proper place in the world, rather than having to decide what everyone should or shouldn’t write or like.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com