Catherine Keating Consulting

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything for public eyes. I’ve been writing incessantly for myself, per usual – words that will be curated for a wider audience eventually, but not yet. I’m still figuring things out.

That said, I am (I think) ready to get out in the world again – to start writing, sharing, and teaching again and I’ve got to begin somewhere. Here we are. Warming up. Dipping my toes in the proverbial shallow end. Gotta get back into the swing of writing for eyeballs that aren’t mine. I need less intensity, a little bit of fun, and a whole lot of heart. Gratitude is always a good place to start.

And so I’m here today on this long forgotten blog to send a sentiment of gratitude to an artist I admire. Someone I’d love to hug in person and say thank you, for even though he doesn’t know this (yet) he has helped me work out some fairly important bits of myself. I can’t actually hug this man, but a thank you is in order. A big ole thank you to Jon Batiste – for his music, but even more so, for his remarkable presence of being.

Why am I spending my time writing a fluff piece few people will see? I’m not sure, but I’m doing it anyway. I need to explain somewhere how much this man’s contribution to the world means to this sensitive heart. Of course I’m speaking of his music, but more so, the way his art of presence, of embodying the complexity of life so gracefully.

I first become interested in his music years ago, heard it, then saw him perform “Freedom” at the Grammys. Immediate shivers, a tell tale sign that I need to pay attention. I was floored by his courage – his honesty and conviction behind every movement, lyric, and note.

At that time, however, I had yet to hear him speak, or know anything at all about him. Now, after listening to multiple interviews, watching the beautiful documentary American Symphony, and getting to know more about him as a person, I have noticed the quality that stands out to me the most, the one I find most admirable, the thing I’m here to thank him for – is the way he speaks. Complete and utter honesty and vulnerability.

Every word, breath, pause, is done slowly, intentionally, deliberately. Every word and every quiet space in between is purposeful and from the heart. You listen to Jon Batiste and you won’t hear filler language, you won’t hear him rush ahead to fill up an empty space. You won’t hear wasted words, or talking around something instead of getting right to it. You will hear lengthy pauses. A musical sigh, sometimes a whoop or a holler, sometimes a low, soft whistle – whatever the actual sound, the force behind it is feeling. A gentle Southern “Ooh Laaawwddd” before he moves on. He does not shy away from showing his feelings, his heart, his integrity. He doesn’t try to hide tears when they come, doesn’t shake off the catch in his voice when it falters, but lets it all be seen. When you hear him speak, you know it is all straight from the soul.

And here’s why this applies to me these days, why I’m tearing up as I try to explain this in words that feel meaningful enough to me. Because, at the core of this ability of his, this habit to show his whole self, no matter the audience, is an inner belief that he’s allowed to take up space. That he’s not “too much.” That he doesn’t need to fit anyone else’s mold to be palatable, comfortable, accepted. But that he is allowed to show up, just as he is, allow his body to make the movements it needs to make to stay grounded, allow his words to reverberate in the air around him, and let them fall where they lay.

I notice this trait in him, and it for me, it mirrors my futile attempts at the opposite. All the ways I have masked (to use a term for my new understanding of myself) my true expression of self in order to keep others comfortable. The full amount of passion that sits inside me is, um, a lot. I’ve tried to cover it up with some more ‘normal’ behaviors, aka, mask. In the past, at times when I have let the mask slide off and I offer my real and unfiltered voice, I am told I’m “quirky” or “weird” or reminded that I am crying again. I know my feelings are a lot and I’ve always tried to contain them so that I can appear more like other people when they talk. I try really hard to make eye contact at the right moments, but I actually dislike too much eye contact. It unnerves me, I can process better if I’m looking off toward the sky or down at my feet while tapping out an inner rhythm. I try to catch my tears before they start because it feels embarrassing at times to cry while sharing a very mundane thing – but that’s thing – nothing, to me, is mundane. I keep my passionate gushing at bay so as not to scare other people. I am constantly worried that I’m too much.

And yet, as I hear Jon Batiste speak in the exact way I’ve been too afraid to do myself, I find myself softening. Relaxing. I feel so safe when he makes his quirky sounds, when he pauses before responding and doesn’t jump to an offhand joke as a means to fill a silence. He remains comfortable in himself, he remains himself. He looks off into the distance and allows whatever sound that needs to emerge from his soul to do so. I feel safe because he is being authentic. Which lends the question – WTF have I been doing all this time hiding? Oh the irony of trying to find safety inside the very thing that creates the opposite.

(That’s a topic for another day.)

What a joyful realization, then, to suddenly see that the quirks behind Jon Batiste’s presence are, in fact, his genius. The very things I’ve attempted to mask from the world are the genius behind my heart-wide-open approach to life. It isn’t my problem if it doesn’t resonate with others or if people get uncomfortable with the intensity that I feel eeevvveerrryyyttthhhiiinnngggg. Or if I write emails as though we’re in the middle of a personal conversation. Or if I get choked up when I try to express anything close to my heart. Or if I’m extremely expressive, or make strange faces, or suddenly have to dance for a hot minute to regulate my system.

I’m 43, almost 44, and pulling the masks off. It’s been an interesting experiment as I learn to step back and recognize moments when I’m about to slip into masked mode and to see if I can pause, redirect, and stay aligned. Over time I’m delighted to discover that I’m reclaiming my space and feeling a lot less drained by daily interactions. It takes a whole lot of energy to stay hidden behind a wall, even when done subconsciously.

Witnessing this highly successful and vibrant musician gracefully hold the pain and the beauty of the world, and transform it all into art, makes me feel less ‘alone’ in moments like my morning walk routine. I don’t enjoy a morning dog walk with anyone but my dog. Occasionally my husband. But mostly I like it all by myself and my best girl of 16 years and music in my ears, specific music that allows me to feel my own humanity. I breathe deeply on my morning walk. Breathe in the beauty around me, and exhale all the pain my body carries around. The suffering of humanity, the sadness everywhere, the challenges of motherhood – all of it. I cry a couple times every walk, I sing a lot, sometimes I find myself dancing in my own world. I used to worry neighbors would think I was odd. Now I don’t care. This is how I balance for my day, this is how I ground myself, how I embody the complex nature of spiritual humanity into my every day motherhood existence.

Everyday I am gifted a choice. Either I look at all the pain and suffering and decide the world is doomed and so am I, or, I see the pain, dig deeply inside of my own heart to feel and purge and to make space for the light of love that I know is the truth. Everyday it is becoming clearer that my lane inside all this madness is to share that space deep within my heart. And, at the risk of assumptions about someone I don’t even know, I think that might be Jon Batiste’s lane too. In world where the voices that cry doom are louder and more plentiful than ever, I believe it is essential to have some of us who can feel the pain in one hand and hold the equivalent light in the other.

This is why I am taking the time to write out this rather random sentiment, a thank you letter that the recipient will probably never see, this offer of gratitude to a musician who provides me with a profound soundtrack to my days, but more importantly, has been such a clear example of how to live and express without apology, without abandoning self. One who continues to shine light out of darkness with absolute presence and integrity. One who keeps on teaching me how to be myself.

Thank you, Jon Batiste. Thank you.