The Beauty of Your Friends' Creative Pursuits

No, no. You read that from/sender line correctly. Critical Linking is back. Today is the first day of the new school year for college students all over the country (at least for the 30-something thousand that call Columbia, Missouri, home), so it seemed like as good day as any for me to knock off the dust and return to your inbox.

I was inspired by some live music I took in over the weekend. A dear friend was playing with a band, and a few weeks ago, in a way that never fails to strike me as brave, he invited me and some fellow friends. We all showed up to a small local venue, and we constituted a significant percentage of the audience.

It was a wonderful show. From the solo opening act to my friend's band's performance, it was a night of great vibes and the kind of music that made it impossible not to tap a toe and bob your head. I wish more people had been there to see it.

Somewhere in the midst of the performance, all I could think about was what a gift the whole thing was. Not just in the sense that I'd been invited and had a wonderful time, though there was that. I was thinking about it more fundamentally.

I was thinking of what a gift it is whenever someone you know in real life invites you into their art. On some level, I was remarking on the sheer act of creative pursuits in this day and age. It's uplifting to see someone give their time and attention to a pursuit when we all know from experience there are so many distractions vying for our attention; it reminds us (at least those of us in need of reminding) that there are better things we could be doing with our time.

When I said my friend was brave in inviting us earlier, I didn't mean to imply it's because there was a likelihood it would have been a bad performance (though I suppose, in reality, that possibility is always there and always real). I meant it more along the lines of it was remarkable for how vulnerable it was. He was saying, in essence, "Here's something I've worked a lot on lately. I'm proud of it, and I would like to share it with you."

For me, that's a hard thing to do. While it's an unmistakable (and singular) joy to get a note from a friend who reads this newsletter to say they liked something in it, it was much harder for me to ask them to subscribe in the first place. It felt too real, them seeing the me on the "page," and worrying how it would match up, if at all, with the me they know from real life. We want to impress those that we know and love the most, and part of that impulse surely comes from the fact that we know we'll see them again soon. That if it doesn't go well, if they don't like it, we'll hear about it. Sure, maybe it's in the empathetic way that's uplifting, but it still presents the possibility of encountering real-life feedback, and that can be scary.

I think there's also something to the relative novelty of performance, especially when it comes to live music. If you're like me (i.e., not a session musician surrounded by musician friends), then it's a real treat to have someone take time to perform for you. You're being given a gift that you yourself would be unable to give. I just sat there and found myself slightly awed at the whole thing, like "Wow. Look what people can do. Regular people, people I know, people that I call friends. They're nothing short of incredibly talented."

Music has always done that to me. A talented player, not even one who would call herself a musician, could keep me entertained for hours. Same with a strong vocalist — they need not be a performer on a stage, but give me a long car ride with them singing along as I drive. I'll never say no.

In a book I recently read called Burn by Peter Heller, a character's ex-wife had told him that "Love is attention." I've thought about that a lot since I read the line. I love it for its simplicity; I love it for its truth. The things (and hopefully people) we give attention to are the things (and people) we love. To love something fully requires our attention. And on and on I could go about the profundity in that short quote, but it struck me as a listened to my friend play music: He loves his music, and you can tell from the attention he gave it as he played. We, his friends, love him, and you could tell from the rapt attention and sincere applause we gave to him. And he loved us back, by asking us to experience this thing — this part of himself — to which he'd given so much love and attention in the first place.

Here's hoping you have some friends in your life that will share with you their creativity, whether that be a poem they wrote, a song they play, a shot-in-the-dark screenplay, a home-cooked meal, a thoughtfully crafted cocktail, or the watercolor they just finished. If they do, it's a special moment; don't miss it.

Ten One Worth Your Time

Only one this time. In no small part because it's one of the longest magazine stories I've read in a while, and it will be for you, too, but don't let that prediction intimidate you.

Because today is the first day of the fall college semester, that can only mean one thing: Football is back.

This will undoubtedly bring joy to many. It's the type of fandom that counts down the days until the seasons return. But ESPN's Tom Junod has written a story that needs to be read before the season starts in earnest.

It's about two football players, separated by 50 years, and the similarities they shared, right down to terrible fates at the hands of the game they loved. It is incredible storytelling. It is soulful and soul-searching. It is sad, and it is sweet. It's an absolute must-read.

The Unforgotten: Two QBs and the game that tied them together forever

Two boys played football 50 years apart. The game tied them together forever.

ESPNTom Junod