I Found my Saving Grace
She had dark hair and dark eyes, and her smile seemed as if she was enjoying something that only she knew. Her skin was like porcelain ivory, I am guessing she was around twenty. I can only describe her remarkable face as almost angelic. She was walking up the center of the very wide stairway to the mezzanine level of the Four Seasons Hotel in Austin, Texas, with a white cane. She seemed not to notice people parting like a wave on each side of her as she slowly ascended.
I noticed a 40ish woman climbing the stairs behind her and watching her intensely. Making me wonder if they were somehow connected. The younger woman’s carriage was self assured and almost regal as she almost pranced up the stairs. I had the feeling, there was something not evident, but special about her and remember thinking “what's with the cane? It was early morning and I was nursing my second cup of coffee, sitting at the open bar on the mezzanine level, while contemplating my next move at this conference.
But I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She reached the floor took a few steps and as if anticipating something, turned and looked back. The older woman caught up to her and said, “How was it?” “Piece of cake, mom!” she exclaimed. She turned as if seeing something at great distance, tapped her cane twice, and moved in that direction. It was only then came the realization, “She‘s blind!” Little did I suspect that would follow with this young blind woman would have such a profound effect on me.
“Well, let's find that workshop” the mother said as they started down a long corridor toward the large banner that said “Welcome Songwriters!” We were at the Austin Songwriter's Group (ASG) Annual Writer's Conference. I presumed she must be a songwriter as this whole floor was pitch sessions and workshops. My curiosity took over as I recalled many famous blind songwriters throughout history. Her mother trailed behind her, letting her daughter proceed at her own pace, as if they had an agreement to let her make her own way. The mother was always there, giving encouragement occasionally, but mostly just in the background
Austin, like Nashville, New York and Los Angeles, is a creative Mecca's for songwriters and this was a big annual event for the ASG group. This was my second year here, having no luck the year before. I was back determined to showcase my best stuff, while trying to figure out what's best or what's sell-able. An age old question for many songwriters. But at this moment all I could think about was her smile, confidence, and dignity as she moved down the hall in traffic.
While paying my tab, I grabbed my satchel of demo tapes and wondered if I could be of assistance to her as I knew the drill here. Though she didn't appear to need much help, especially with her mother in tow. Losing sight of her for a moment, while weaving my way through throngs of people. I turned to the right at the first corridor and suddenly found myself walking right up to her at a workshop registration desk. Her mother and I made eye contact as I tried not to trip over my own feet.
Smiling at the mom, a bit uncomfortable after just barging up, I sought to find something suitable to say. I paused for a moment, leaned down toward the young woman and said,“This guy is really good, I attended this workshop last year.” She turned, looked up and smiled, then reached up and touched my face. I stood absolutely stunned. She paused for a moment, and then asked, “May I?”
“Yes,” I said, as her mother looked on with a beneficent gaze. Her hand roved softly over my other cheek. I had no idea how to respond, and blurted, “Yes! He is really good!”. “Good luck!”.
Her touch was so unexpected that I was almost speechless as I picked up a workshop pamphlet. We moved on but I still felt the smoothness of her hand as she had explored my cheek. Did I pass muster, I wondered, what did she feel? But with chills and viscerally warm feeling about the touch.
I hadn’t not planned on attending this workshop as I had done so the previous year, but I followed her and mom into the room, sitting a couple of rows behind them. I listened half-halfheartedly to the presenter, mostly watching her. During the workshop, she sat silently listening as if contemplating and lost in deep thought. While several attendees asked questions on how to get record deals and get played on the airways., she asked only one, “How do I make my songs better?”.
In songwriter speak, that really struck a chord with me. There was a childlike innocence about her, but she spoke with such clarity, as if not hampered by sight and visual distractions. It was like she heard things on a distinct and intuitive level. For the next three workshops it was always the same. She was listening and learning always kind and respectful, but very insightful. It soon became apparent that other writers started to notice and anticipate a question from her, some taking notes on what she asked as well as what the workshop presenters said. I found these reactions very impressive as the presenters were all industry professionals or well known songwriters. I was now even more intrigued, but still trying to understand why she had so captured my interest.
After the fourth workshop came lunch at the restaurant in the hotel lobby. I sat down a couple of tables away from her and her mother, knowing after lunch we would move exclusively to pitch sessions. I also knew that if I was going to have a meaningful conversation with her it would have to be now. While trying to figure out how to approach her a stroke of luck occurred, when Betty, a songwriter I knew reasonably well, sat down beside her, waived to the mom. and gave her a hug. It was obvious they were friends.
Now with a reason, I went over to pay my respect to Betty. After a “See you're still pitching” comment from Betty, I was introduced and asked to join the table, which I now realized included some notable songwriters. Though not personally acquainted, I recognized three of the other writers as being “well known” and part of the Austin music scene and saw a couple unbelievable hair colors as well as a body piercing of which, I was not familiar.
Recognizing my voice, she said “Oh yes !” We spoke earlier!” “Yes, we did!” I then fell silent, my mind seeking words for the conversation I sought. Little, did I know the conversation that followed would alter not only my outlook on songwriting, but perhaps the way I would look at life in general
Other than Betty and me, the table included, mother, daughter and six other songwriters. There is always a certain camaraderie among songwriters, but at the same time they can be very skeptical. When together in a group and sharing with other writers, it is a must, to be seen as competent at the craft. The free flowing creative conversation that followed was enthralling. We mostly talked of the artful craft of songwriting and the meshing of words and melody and whether the hook, melody or words make the song or if it takes all for a great song. My eyes never wavered from her and like the workshops she seemed be absorbing all that was being said. I think, even though she had little experience, she was easily accepted in the group because of things she said in those workshops.
This was a very interesting, engaged and talented bunch sitting around that table as one by one we shared our opinions, experiences and hopes. Aspirations for the conference, ranged from CD sales, to more bookings, recognition as an artist, finding co-writers, and networking. Mine was to write a song that would be sung or hummed a hundred years from now. Usually, I’m quite a talker, willing to share my thoughts on many subjects. However, this was a different as I was a bit intimidated by all the talent at the table. While I can't give every quote verbatim, the essence of what was shared, will be with me forever. A few minutes later, it was obvious everyone but she had spoke and faces turned her way.
She said, “my turn?” her face then came alive with a wide smile. She leaned forward, and the softness of her voice was almost like a song. “When I hear melodies, I close my eyes and see colors and wonder what poetic words could I use to describe those colors and then, I write.” She smiled and added, “When I write...I become the person I want to be”. “I love describing events as only I... can see them. I love capturing random thoughts, turning them to song, giving my narrative to life's never ending story.” She paused for a moment almost as if seeing the words in her mind and continued, “while searching for my words, I never reach the end of my curiosity or imagination and I gratefully embrace all that uplifts.” Adding, “that fulfills me and tells me I’m am offering the world a bit of my soul.” She then proffered, “Long before the printed word, learning was through voice and epic poems which were sung.” She paused and said, “ As writers we can also be philosophers and movers of civilization as we put our thoughts and voice into song and as such...we are continuing life's epic poem.” She ended with, “ Bearing one's heart and soul as a songwriter is a noble calling.”
In that moment, I realized that we were all motivated in the art, but also commercial realities of the conference and she was steeped in dreams of life far and wide and so much deeper than our mundane concerns. While her eyes looked at everyone and no one, she delivered, in expression and tone every passion I have ever felt.
I watched the other writers leaning forward anticipating her next word as she spoke. After she spoke, there was a collective pause at the table as everyone seem to draw breath, lean back and absorb what had been said. I can still hear the echo of her voice, every word uplifting and inspiring, evoking deeply held emotions. Something about her was so captivating, we all seemed drawn to her like a moth to flame or metal to magnet. She took center stage without dominating the conversation. I think, we all thought of ourselves as song craftsmen, but now we viewed her as not only a songwriter, but also a poet and philosopher. There were some very good songwriters there, but she owned the table as if she was the teacher and we were the students.
As lunch ended, she made us all feel special by thanking us all for being songwriters, saying, “Creating word pictures, depicting human events and giving voice to passions is as essential to life as breathing”.
Every one stood up in silence and watched as she and mom headed back to the conference and pitch sessions. It was like a silent standing ovation. And then we followed.
I’ve struggled trying to describe her effect on me and all at that table. This was a huge conference, there were dozens of workshops, Betty was the only one she knew previously. But everyone at that table except Betty came from the ones she attended. Amazingly, this blind, novice songwriter, made a very diverse and I must say, colorful group of songwriters from different genres feel a part of something much larger than the conference or ourselves. I’ve often wondered if the others were as captured as I.
Perhaps because she exuded a confidence that was contagious and left us all with the feeling to her, being blind was just a small challenge to be overcome and life was about more important things.
And know, I have paraphrased some of her words through memory and know the difficulty conveying the emotional impact on eight very different people. Her presence and charm was so beguiling it overcame her impediment. The thought, I've never seen such dignity, such grace ran through my mind.
After she spoke of poems, I was inspired and grateful as all my songs start as poems. The poems and songs I write are a part my frame of reference on life. I’m always hopeful that by sharing stories and passions as seen through my eyes, others will find meaning in my words.
I've never thought much about destiny or that some things are just meant to happen. I do think we all left that lunch inspired to be better at what we do in music and life. And do know she left an imprint on my life and I wasn’t the same person afterwards. I now go through life hoping to have a similar effect on someone.
As the conference continued, I whistled and hummed, went to pitch sessions, not pitching the songs I thought salable, only the ones I was moved to write. Knowing something had happened to my outlook, but not quite sure what it was, I went to pitch sessions with the premise:, if your songs don't get picked up, “write better songs”. Confidence up, my anxiety over which songs to pitch disappeared.
When the conference was over, I knew there was something I needed to say to her about our meeting, but she and her mother had disappeared already and I wasn’t sure what it was just then.
At that same time, I was co-writing with friend and fellow songwriter, Greg, on a country song. One of the lines we had written, stated, "Only touching, never caring, love is just temporary and parting always comes to pass. I thought it was a really good country line.
However, one day as I was going over that song, I sat strumming my guitar and singing the line, over and over and for no reason I can ascertain, thought of her. I abruptly stopped in the middle of the line and realized how that phrase would never be a line that she would write. I simply could not imagine her thinking of love as temporary. So, I did what I always do, I sat down and wrote a poem and then turned it in to song, stealing a couple of Greg's words.
Afterwards, I called Betty and told her about the song saying, “I don't know what to do with it. I just had to write it.” Betty said, “One thing you have to do is convey to her, she’s an inspiration.” Then added, “I've known her for sometime. I hope she’ll will be a great songwriter, but I know she will always be a great person.” She paused for a moment and added, “Something deeper than success is satisfaction and contentment, with what you've been dealt, which is a quality that she possesses and should be acknowledged.”
A week or so later, the four of us gathered at Betty's home. After hello's and the nice to visit with you again moments. We sat in a circle. I remember very clearly, I strummed my guitar and said “this is something,” “I think you should know” then played and sang:
“I Found My Saving Grace.”
I thought love was temporary, parting always came to pass
Only touching, never caring, I knew it could not last
So I loved them and I left them, taking all they had to give
But I was lost in my deception, I thought it was the only way to live.
The life that I was living disappeared without a trace
When I met her, I found my saving grace.
First time I saw her, she was walking my way
I’d never seen such beauty, such dignity, such grace
Her grace was my seduction, I could not believe
One with so much beauty, could see anything in me
She walked up to me, put both hands upon my face
I was touched so deeply, now time cannot erase
Just how my heart was changed as I looked at her that day
I stood there consumed, by her amazing grace
The life that I was living disappeared without a trace
When I met her, I found my saving grace
She was born without her vision, but she sees more than most folks see
She saw the good that was hidden, she brought out the best in me
I know I will admire her forever, her grace has set me free
Now my finest possession, is the grace I found in me
The life that I was living disappeared without a trace
When I met her, I found my saving grace....
I’ve never had a lot of confidence in my singing abilities or guitar playing, I know a dozen chords and I’m intimately acquainted with the same three, following a mantra, “Three chords and the truth.” So my lyrics are mostly, for others to perform. This however, was different. My voice was stronger, I missed no chords and fully conveyed the emotion of the song, and even though the eyes looking back at me were filled with tears, the joy was palpable. Though welling, I managed not to tear up until finished.
I’ve tried to remember what I did to make the song such a success on that day. “Maybe it was just the audience,” but I have unsuccessfully, looked for the right voice ever since. After tears from the others three, came the grateful hugs and kisses on the cheek. I will forever, remember the look of gratitude from the mother, it is “something I will carry with me always.”
Thinking back, I realize how much I had gained from being in her presence. She turned a conference filled with anxiety into one of renewed confidence in my abilities and commitment to write better songs. (The conference was a success for me as I had two songs picked up.)
I’m not sure what it was that motivated me to follow her, but I know something special happened and I think I am a better person because of it. I’m also very sure, whether it is songwriting or just life, over time she will inspire many others. When I think of her, smiling inwardly, I remember the touch and again feel the warmth. And I feel no empathy no sympathy, only admiration. Not only am I ever pushing to be better as a writer, but because we met. I think I’m a better person and better able to face my life's small challenges with a bit of grace.
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