Right Now

Right now there is time. That’s what we’re telling ourselves. Time to do things we don’t usually have time for, so make good use of it (like Shakespeare, ha!). Time. Time. Time. But somehow the days still pass pretty quickly for me. How about you?

Time is an always interesting and often evocative, provocative topic: time defines age, which some think defines us. There’s one philosophy of living that tells you to act like you don’t know how old you are so you don’t limit yourself, don’t fall prey to preconceptions of what you should be doing or feeling at any given point in time. I like that one.

Part of what I’ve done with this time is look through some old photos. “Old photos” means I was younger and in a different stage of my what-has-accumulated-to-be-wonderful life.

So look at me here. I don’t know the exact year, but I can promise you this: I felt old. Criminal, right? I’m certain I thought I was too old to be a singer (was in my 30s). But I’ve been feeling I was too old for this and that since I was 25. Today, right now, in the well beyond this photo, I’m working on a new song, and I’m certain there are at least a few people out there eager to hear it. Also quite certain I’m a better singer than I was all those years ago when I was too old to be a singer. More confident too (clearly!). Without the passing of time, nothing can develop, to state the obvious.

Look at me here. My first year in New York City and all ready for everything!

And look at me here, having a really nice autumn day with my grandpa outside the house where I was born, before I even knew there was such a thing as New York City. But I did know there was music. My grandmother played it every day on her Hammond A100 organ (now my Hammond A100 organ) and that’s where I learned about melody, rhythm and rhyme while I was also learning to walk. Multi-tasking as a toddler.

And here on my first songwriting trip to London, to write with real English people!

I’m so vain. I bet I think this blog is about me. But it’s about something much more, something bigger, something universal: it’s about journey. I’ve been lucky enough not only to be on one (the act of journey itself not to be taken for granted), but also to get to take a good look at it, to have had a chorus of guides along the way pointing out the sights, the curves, the chasms. I’ve been blessed with good health, which I barely noticed for ages—an exquisite luxury I now cherish and fearfully guard.

Right now, our journeys have all intersected. We’re in one place, looking at the same finish line, fighting one invisible, voracious invader. Maybe this would feel more unifying if we didn’t have to be apart. But those are the rules of this race.

So here we sit, linked together through the online world, which is proving itself a creative playground for dealing with crisis. Maybe you have some old photos you haven’t looked at in a while. How we react to photos changes over time, new ways to look at ourselves and our lives. Amy Rigby pointed that out to me once when we were talking about not always liking something about our records when we first make them, but then we do later. “It’s like a photo,” she said. Great observation.

So maybe revisit your past while our present is on hold. And remember wise things old friends have said. It’s some goodness in this time, right now, while we are all faced with the same challenge:

Don’t catch COVID-19. But if you do, or if you have, hug your antibodies tight.

Much love,

Mary Lee

And of course: Please buy my book, my music, and follow me here, there and everywhere!

Is that a face mask hanging from your hoop earring, or are you just happy to see me?

My Prejudice