Only The Good Die Young

       “We may be laughing a bit too loud. But that never hurt no one.”
       That’s a line from a Billy Joel song, “Only The Good Die Young”. And it flashed through my mind the other night when I went to see the movie This is Spinal Tap with a group of people, on the big screen, for the first time in years.
       I laughed so hard, so often, that I would have welcomed an oxygen tank. My twin brother sat next to me, and he was just as breathless. I left the movie mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. Like I had just run a 10K. Hard. I was spent.
       That’s exactly how I want to feel when I experience art. In fact, that’s how I want to feel after I experience anything intense in life. Movies. Music. Exercise. Sex. The list goes on. But that’s another post.
       If you go to a comedy to laugh, and the movie hits you where it counts, then laugh. Don’t be worried about laughing too loud or too often. I mean that’s the whole fucking point of going. But in a society that does not encourage the expression of emotions, this can be dicey. Societal Norms (a quasi-oxymoron in many situations) are very restrictive around expression. Societal Norms tell us that "It’s okay to laugh and cry, but only in these situations, and only under these conditions. And even then, don’t laugh too much or too loud. Don’t cry too much. Stay inside the box. Don’t paint outside the lines.".
       Well the best living happens when you paint outside the fucking lines.
       And as a man who knows quite a bit about audio, let me tell you that if you’re laughing so loud at a movie that that it becomes difficult for people around you to hear the movie, then that’s an indictment of theater management, not you. If someone can’t hear the audio over your laughter, the sound isn’t loud enough. Theater management should know that. And they should crank it up. Before the movie even starts.
       I’m not talking about purposefully disrupting anybody’s enjoyment. I’m not talking about pulling a "Robert DeNiro as Max Cady from Cape Fear" move in a theater. What I’m talking about is working with our own self consciousness, with our own inhibitions; already high enough when we’re alone or in small groups, but heightened to dizzying platitudes when we’re in a crowd.
       Art is created to illicit an emotional response. It’s through that emotional response that we connect to the art. More importantly, it’s through that emotional response that we connect to each other, and to the artist himself. Or herself. What an amazingly beautiful concept. If an artist makes a movie or writes a book or sings a song and it doesn’t move you, then the art hasn’t connected to you. For you, the art hasn’t done its job. Okay. But if it does move you, then let it move you all the way. Let it all the way in, and allow it to touch you as deeply as it can. Let it do its job. Then, and here's the real tricky part, trust your own expression of it. Allow it all the way in. Allow it all the way out. Like deep breathing. And like deep breathing, doing this with what moves and touches us creates a much deeper, richer, fuller, more satisfying, more intense, more beautiful experience.
       If I’m so moved by a comedy that I laugh so hard that at times I can barely breathe, then Mission Accomplished. That’s why I went. I trust myself that I’m not going to become out of control and ruin somebody’s night. But many of us are so afraid of causing a scene, or drawing attention to ourselves, or god forbid, doing something that causes a complete stranger not to like us, that we pull back from such laughter without even realizing it. It becomes a nearly automatic reaction. Without even knowing it’s happening, the voice inside of us goes “It’s okay to laugh aloud, here in the theater, but watch it! Don’t laugh too loud! Keep a sharp eye on how much you’re laughing, and at what volume. Don’t ever put the pedal to the metal. Reign it in. Pull back. Don’t let yourself go.”
       We live in a world that’s constantly trying to get us to conform. To fit in. To tow the line. Not just in public, but in private. The power and the depth of emotions and expression makes many of us uncomfortable, even when we’re alone with people we love. Let’s reexamine that. Together.
    Stay with me as I explore this more.


©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All Rights Reserved.
       

True Love And Spinal Tap

       Attending summer school in July of 1984 at Villanova, my good buddy and roommate Billy suggested we go see a movie called This Is Spinal Tap, which was playing at a small independent theatre near South Street in Philadelphia. This was the hip, artsy section of the city. So one night we drove down in Billy’s big white Mercury Cougar and sat through what ended up being a watershed event of my life.
       The movie was a magic symphony that struck my entire being, like that one loud, powerful, note that shatters the glass. This Is Spinal Tap  sympathetically resonated with my very essence. That’s what great art does. Whether it’s a song, a movie, a painting, a book, or the love of your life who you want to share it all with. Your very self resonates with a beauty and a force that can not be contained. It’s magic.      
       I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen the movie since then. But I do know that, without exaggeration, I can quote virtually every line of the entire picture; and not only can I quote it, but I can duplicate the nuances, inflections, and timing of the lines as well. It’s more like, when I choose to, I can breathe the movie out of me. Because the movie is so completely in me. Like air.
       Last night, I saw the movie again, after having not seen it in years. And on the big screen to boot, which I hadn’t done since the summer of 1988 at The Kenmore Theater in Boston (that viewing is another story in itself). Last night in Coolidge Corner, I saw it with my twin brother and a bunch of his friends. Mike and I laughed so hard I thought one of us would pass out.
       How the hell can I laugh so hard at a movie that I’ve seen so many times that I don’t see anything new anymore? I know what’s coming. I know when it’s coming. I know how it’s coming. And yet I respond like it’s all happening for the first time. What would I call that? True Love.
       True Love, of anybody, or of any work of art, strikes you on a level that’s not completely perceptible or understandable. But only if you allow yourself to be struck that way. Some people never allow themselves to be struck like that, by anybody or by anything. Some people have great difficulty allowing themselves to be that vulnerable. Where they let their insides be so exposed as to be so touched by another or by art that they feel a vibration that shakes them to their core. It’s a scary thing. For all of us. But that vulnerability is essential if you want to be moved on this level.
       I’ve been all over the spectrum of vulnerability, from walled off shut down to raw nerves feeling every breeze of emotion. And I know I can help people open up, access their vulnerability, and thus allow themselves to be profoundly touched and moved.
       I don’t know if they’ll connect to “Spinal Tap”, but I know they can connect to themselves. To their feelings. To their life. And that’s magic.


©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All Rights Reserved.

Clinterview: Man vs. Emotion (part 8)

The final intallment in my interview with Professor Ginny Judge Horan. Parts one through seven can be found in the Video Blog section of my archives.

The Most Beautiful You

Really, wouldn't it be epic if we all felt this way about ourselves? And about one another?

You

Are the most beautiful You
The most precious You
The world has ever had

When You step into that

You
Will love You
Just the way You are

You
Will love You
The way I already do

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All Rights Reserved.

Fifty Pack

       Fifty. It’s just a number. We give the number meaning depending on it’s context and what we, as human beings, bring to that context. Is fifty a lot or a little? By itself, it’s both. Very zen, actually.
       Nowhere is potential meaning more charged than when we apply the number “fifty” to our age. To some, fifty feels “old”; to others, “young”. I just turned fifty. To me, it doesn’t feel anything. To me, it’s just a number.
       This is not to say, however, that turning fifty has no meaning in the scope of my life. It does. But not in the dichotomous context of young versus old. But in the context of where have I been, where am I now, and where am I going.
       Physically, I look and feel better than I did thirty years ago. Time has, however, diminished some of my body’s ability to perform certain tasks. I can’t run the hundred as fast as I used to, for example. But in the grand scope of things, that doesn't mean much. Physically, I can still do what’s important to me. And I intend that to be the case for some time to come.
       To the endeavor of keeping myself fit, both Inside and Out, I have brought Discipline, Commitment, Passion, Wisdom, Joy, Self Awareness, Love, and a Youthful Exuberance. If I can apply those elements to other areas of my life, I can create success, fulfillment, happiness, and meaning in those areas. No matter how I define the parameters of success, fulfillment, happiness, and meaning. I sometimes forget that. We all do. So I’m reminding myself of that today. And I’m reminding you of that as well.
       Bringing a “Youthful Exuberance” rates as especially poignant when we talk about age. Connecting to that youthful fire and joy inside is something that time and life have robbed from many. But no matter what, we can all reconnect to it. Reestablishing the conduit to our inner youthfulness is a recurring theme of this blog. Rediscovering, and reconnecting to, that youthful passion, joy, curiosity, and wonder, is going to be one of the cornerstones as I take my blog to a business. I will help people bring more of that to their life. I know how to do that. Because I’ve been doing it my whole life. And I’ve learned a thing or two.
       When I bring the best of myself to my life, my life works better. Nowhere is this more poignant than in my relationships. When I bring commitment, passion, wisdom, joy, self awareness, a youthful exuberance, and love to a relationship, it works. When I don’t, it doesn’t. If any of those critical elements are missing too often, from either person, my relationships suffer. I suffer. We suffer.
       I took this picture just after I turned fifty. It serves as an example and a reminder to me that when I bring the best of myself to my life, I experience my own brand of happiness, fulfillment, success, and meaning. Only when I bring the best of myself do I create the possibility of making an idea into a reality. That’s what's so exciting to me about any process in which I’m fully engaged, whether it’s my fitness or my intimate relationship.
       The art of life demands that I apply myself to my visions.

©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All Rights Reserved.