Music was his life, it was not his livelihood...
Sometimes the thing you have is the thing.
Dear reader, this week I am offering you something a little different than what I usually do. No intro with a personal tale. No sections with behavioral psychology. No closing that sums it all up with something actionable. No Rob Reiner quote hidden somewhere in the text. This week, I just wanted to write and see where it took me. I hope you enjoy... though there might still be a Rob Reiner quote in here somewhere.
Mr. Tanner was a cleaner from a town in the Midwest...
Do you know this song? It’s from Harry Chapin. You know, the “Cat’s in the Cradle” guy. The one that makes every dad cry at least a couple of times a year.
But “Mr. Tanner” is a different kind of beast. It’s about a dry cleaner named Martin Tanner, of Dayton, Ohio, who had this beautiful baritone voice. He sang while he pressed clothes. He sang at local shows. Everyone in town told him he was gifted. That he should do something with it.
So he did. He saved up, went to New York, and performed at Town Hall. And, well, the critics destroyed him. Or more specifically, “full time consideration of another endeavor might be in order.” Just, wow.
And he did. He went home. He went back to cleaning coats. And he mostly stopped singing. Except late at night, when the shop was dark and closed, he’d sing softly to himself while sorting through the clothes. His music didn’t die, but he hid it. And maybe that is fine, but it kinda sucks that he felt he had to.
I think about this song often. Truth be told, I haven’t listened to it in decades, but it comes to me, unbidden. Not because my singing career was derailed by harsh critics and not because I am particularly good at cleaning clothes. And I’ve never even been to Ohio.
I don’t know why this song visits me in some Dickensian kind of way. And honestly, that bothers me.
At times I think it’s a cautionary tale.
Don’t let other people decide your fate.
Don’t give your power away.
Don’t let the critics choose your path.
Other times I think it might be about hidden talents and the fragility of dreams.
And still other times I think it has something to do with resilience. Like, do I resent Martin Tanner? Is he a warning or a mirror?
I’ve turned it over and over and I could never quite land on an answer. But this week something finally clicked into place.
It’s not the critics. It was never the critics.
Yeah, I resent Mr. Tanner.
Martin Tanner was already happy. And somebody talked him out of it. He let himself be talked out of it.
Go back and listen to the song. I never got the sense that he was an unhappy cleaner. He had a life. He had a gift. He had recognition from the people around him. He sang while he worked. The man was fine. He wasn’t settling or running away or giving up. He was content.
And somewhere along the way, he was talked into the insatiable need for more. His friends, his neighbors, the people who loved him, they looked at a content man and said “you should want bigger.” But why?
Don’t get me wrong. I am all about pushing your limits and testing the edges of your boundaries. But I also think that being content with who you are and what you have is profoundly underrated. Stories are told and movies are made about the underdog who overcomes all odds and finds fame or wins the day or saves the world. But life is rarely like that. Life is a series of meaningless profound moments that can lead to contentment or dissatisfaction. And it grinds my gears that Martin Tanner let himself be pushed into something he likely didn’t want in the first place.
So why am I ranting about a fairly unheralded song from the early 70s instead of following the normal Chief Rabbit format we all know and love?
I think it is because sometimes I am overwhelmed by the excess of it all. The constant pressure to drive, thrive, do and be more. I felt compelled to defend contentment. To be its champion.
Maybe it is a by product of getting older, but I think that you have a better chance of finding peace and happiness in the small things. The quiet moments that you don’t tell people about and that don’t make for good stories.
What is wrong with singing to yourself as you clean clothes? Or whatever that looks like for you. Why does everything have to be more all the time?
I guess what I am trying to say is this. You don’t have to settle in life. You don’t have to run from a challenge. Life has to be a little nuts sometimes. Otherwise, it’s just a bunch of Thursdays strung together. You absolutely should pursue your dreams, reach for the stars, and all that.
But I think it is also OK to give yourself permission to revel in the little moments. It’s fine to love something and not monetize it. To be good at something and not perform it. To appreciate the small things that bring you joy without needing to justify them to anyone.
It’s important to recognize all the little to medium to large things that have significance for you, even if they are only for you. It’s OK to be selfish with the moments that fill you up. Not everything needs to scale. Not every gift needs a stage.
Martin Tanner had it right the first time. He just didn’t know it. And nobody around him thought to say, “Hey man, you’re already singing. That’s the whole point.”
So here’s what I’d ask of you this week. Find the thing you do that makes you feel like yourself. The thing that doesn’t need an audience or a review or anyone’s permission. And just... keep doing it. Protect it. Not everything that matters has to matter to someone else.
So sing while you press the clothes. Or whatever your version of pressing clothes looks like.
Ever Forward,
— Derek (aka Chief Rabbit)
OK so this might seem kinda random, but I know that all this talk about AI these days can be overwhelming. So, I’m running another 90-minute online workshop on April 8th called Making Sense of AI. Some live demos, real answers about costs, limits, and privacy, a small group to learn and help feel like you might know what people are talking about.
$50. Wednesday, April 8th at 10am Pacific.
(That link goes to my consulting website. Don’t worry, that’s me.)
Oh and yeah, I write this new newsletter every dang day. Check it out:
