A Dream about Lightning Bugs: A Life of Music and Cheap Lessons

by Ben Folds

Being present and mindful is easier said than done. Sometimes it seems nobody is listening, and it’s tempting to disconnect accordingly. Sometimes there’s one heckler that overshadows the rest of the crowd. It’s easy to be distracted by less-than-perfect situations, especially when you’ve turned your passion into an occupation. It’s hard not to set your soul to “autorepeat” or “autopilot.” I’ve been guilty of focusing on something wrong with my monitors, or some fellow I wish wasn’t beatboxing on the front row in a solo piano show, when I should have been inside the music, appreciating that there were other human beings in the audience giving me their time. It’s always the easy way out, being an existential chicken. Not really being there. It’s harder, it’s riskier, to be present. But we should try like hell to be. And not just in music, but in every action and exchange in our short lives. I can tell you that when I inwardly acknowledge the effect that music and my presence can have on others, even the old songs seem new again. And you don’t have to kiss the audience’s ass. You don’t have to bust a move, tell jokes, or juggle. You don’t even have to speak or smile. It’s an internal thing—an intention that radiates out of you. It’s humility and gratitude. It’s about living inside the notes, and between them, and understanding that each of those notes may mean a completely different thing to each person in an audience. Once it leaves your fingertips or your lips, it’s no lon...