Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Wouldn't it be great if we lost leaves in the winter?

The Presidents State of the Union speech continues to gather energy inside the thoughts I keep. I love watching Mr. Obama’s pattern of release because each word delivered dominates an invisible stage that connects viewers to his personal visions.

I remember being electrified by President Ronald Reagan—whenever he spoke, all things around me no longer seemed important.

George W was a leaner. He didn’t stand up straight at the worlds most powerful podium, the President leaned into it, pulling off what a radio station program director once told me is the best way to communicate to listeners, calling it the Cheers bar approach to reaching someone without offending them. I totally grasp the concept of attempting to pull off an approachable demeanor but his swing showcased folded to the center shoulders, slouching which comes across as, “Hey we’ll do whatever it takes but right now I’ve got other things on my plate.”

In the movie The Legend of Bagger Vance Will Smith’s character explains, “Inside each and every one of us is our true authentic swing. Something that’s ours and ours alone. Something that can’t be learned…something that’s got to be remembered.”

In an age where music careers begin on television shows and computer games are so real it’s taught our nations young people to never fear the words of written law—the depth of our perception is barely two sentences thick.

Light years before Curt Cobain and Pearl Jam fed the veins of Grunge, President Reagan called the 1980’s the Me Generation. He sent cabinet members into soup kitchens as a way to better understand as well as seize control of wasteful government spending, which included the leader of our people to blatantly remind consumers that ketchup is a vegetable and shall be served in our schools as such.

Part of what made his swing effective was his acting skills to deliver lines that were geared toward slapping your heart and not your face. Even when ordering Mr. Gorbachev to tear down the Berlin Wall, the angle of Reagan’s swing embodied more than the United States of America—the impact became universal.

Inside each and every one of us is our true authentic swing.

I believe this line of thought is fed to us the first time our parents catch us doing something stupid but don’t do anything about it, “He or she is going to be. He does it all the time, he’ll probably be.” Or even worse, “We’ve had nine generations of bankers in our family and my child will be the next to succeed in a world of numerical control.”

If one quarter of the nation didn’t leave their careers to chase real estate and Wall Street would the unemployment rate be where it’s at today?

A true authentic swing is better spent when disconnected from monetary satisfaction: Your authentic swing is something that can’t be learned…it something that’s got to be remembered. It’s yours and yours alone.

Try getting that one by the spouse and family censors.

Men trapped in garages and caves with ice cold beer on tap 24/7 is the current rage—it’s a place to hide while hosting secret poker games, watching Super Bowl games or just trying to piece together the reasons why an incompetent insurance company can’t seem to figure out how to pay medically trained buffoons chasing their own swing. A man without his fort is a follower.

A total rip off from women. What was Grandma Bakken really doing when she’d close the door leading to her sewing room? Nearly twenty years after her passing, the art she created is still unforgettable—I’d say she was extremely familiar with her swing and how to tap into it on a moments notice.

So the question is…what is yours and yours alone? What do you hold that can’t be learned yet its something you completely remember? What is your authentic swing?

It took twenty five overly dedicated and loyal years of on-air radio to realize this game is nothing more than a daily hobby…it aint my swing. Six years later, if I had known that I’d be doing what I perform seven days a week, the origin of having radio dreams wouldn’t have materialized. But I’m no different than the grocery store manager, the pill collector at the pharmacy and Wanda the Flea Market Guru…we follow dreams…we barely if ever listen to reality.

That’s why having a midlife crisis now begins in the mind, body and soul of a twenty eight year old and grows wild until you finally come to terms with the self that wanted more than a beautiful roof over your head and each bedroom filled with sports loving, school grade perfection kids. Stay at home Mom alcoholism is at its nightmarish peak. We’ve shopped until the banks dropped us. Careers are nothing more than dentists; both are in the market to pull teeth.

Inside each and every one of us is our true authentic swing. Something that’s ours and ours alone. Something that can’t be learned…something that’s got to be remembered.

Nearing 48…I have the courage to admit—I have no clue. Thought I’d be a Martial Arts Master by 50 but then what? Also assumed I would’ve been to Hollywood centuries before Seacrest…couldn’t locate the right decision maker to support the system. It has to be something that can’t be learned, something that’s got to be remembered. Which is kind of funny because Tom the program director once said to me, “You are five years away from having a name in radio.” That was in 1995. It’s been nothing but backwards since.

Inside each and every one of us is our true authentic swing. If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine…its probably hanging out with the socks and keys we can never find.

arroecollins@clearchannel.com

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