Where the Colors Bleed Into One - We Share Our Shame
I’ve always thought the coolest job in the world is being a talk show host. Not the hyper-political talking heads we see now, but the real deal – Johnny Carson in his prime, or Letterman back when he was still funny. My Grandmother loved Carson, and it was a must-watch for her when Jonathan Winters was on with him. Winters was FUN-NY. I guess the two Johns were drinking buddies. Comical by themselves, hilarious together – without scripts. Late-night TV should be lighthearted and funny, like they were. C’mon NBC, let us go to bed without the stress of the new American struggle…CNN vs. FOX.
My compliments to the Morrison Hotel Gallery for posting this - there are some amazing photos on their site: https://morrisonhotelgallery.com/
I’d love that job. You bring a centerpiece like Winters on the show and just let him tear loose. All Johnny had to do was laugh. The networks screwed it up, so now when all of America is home doing whatever to get the mind and body ready for the workday it happens less and less in front of the late night talk show and more and more with Tik Tok and Reels. And on Friday, I got my own version of a spotlight – not to crack jokes, but to tear loose in a different way: by talking honestly about the not-so-great ways I used to deal with stress, and the better ways I’m trying to find now. I had to talk about where and how I find strength, and even more difficult…hope. It's not funny at all, but my grandmother would have approved.
I’m used to talking about stuff. In fact, some are interested in my perspective on things, particularly when it comes to educating the kiddos who get left behind. That’s easy. Friday was hard. I spent days thinking about what I’d say, and how I’d say it. My Grandmother did not like me drinking at all. She didn’t want anyone drinking, actually - and she’d be damn glad to know I quit. Today would be her 98th if she were still here. When framing what I’d say on Friday, I thought about doing it as if I were talking to her, but thought better of that. It would have been even deeper and more personal than the deep and personal experience needed to be.
Instead, I framed it to align with the lyrics of the U2 smash, I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For. The best version, in my opinion, is the one from Rattle and Hum. This is where Bono shares his gift and receives the gift of participation in a church choir from Harlem. The song is a bit of a confession for the lead singer. How could a guy with a billion dollars, fame, and a certain type of power still be searching for...well, anything?
Listen to this one - so worth it
The song hits deeper than its catchy, sing-along church vibe lets on. What’s the highest mountain you’ve climbed, and when have you crawled? On the set of my not-so-funny talk show, that’s what I’d ask you. And wow, the cross of shame? We all have at least one – but 99.9% of us never discuss it – until we have to. That cross got so big and heavy when they finished with me, it finally crushed me. On Friday, I was told to get off the cross because someone else needed the wood. Easing up on myself would have been much easier in the pre-Google days of 1987, when the song was written.
I have kissed honey lips. Felt the healing in her fingertips. Yup.
Spoke with the tongue of angels? Not yet.
Held the hand of the devil? I guess so.
All the colors bleed into one – Absolutely!
That’s the line I really get.
Lately, I see it in how no matter what we call ourselves…men, women, straight, gay, black, white, Asian, well-off, or poor, it doesn’t matter. Because pain, stress, anxiety, trauma, and their quick fixes DO NOT discriminate. Being bound, humiliated, and ridiculed for our pain or the fear of it can really shut us up. And that’s not right.
Once the relentless pursuit of a dream job became a nightmare…a personal hell, a song like this can really pin you down. A person or people in your life who says you aren’t enough, you aren’t doing enough, that who or what you are isn’t sufficient, in Bono’s words, can leave you cold as a stone. Where and when does the Warm as the night come?
I shared stuff on Friday that I’ve never really told anyone…and in the end, I felt good doing it. As much as I love to write – I spoke about things that I’d never even dream of writing. The soliloquy ends with the hope – the warm as the night – what’s out there that keeps me moving forward.
A 14-year-old boy who’s watching me. A healthier body. A clearer mind. My mountain bike. New friends. Coffee. Creativity. Conversations like the ones I had on Friday.
Life on a fresh axis.
And the memory of my Grandmother laughing at Jonathan Winters when he read a passage of his book on Carson.
My grandma was called Nonnie, but I called her Non. She’d be happy to know that while I still haven’t found what I’m looking for…I’m finally enjoying the search.