The most interesting, unexpected things happen in the margins.
Think about it: the last time you went on a carefully orchestrated trip, remember that hole-in-the-wall cafe you accidentally stumbled upon when you were hungry and the five-star expert-recommended eatery was too far to walk? Did you feel that you had discovered a secret, just between you and the few locals lucky enough to live nearby?
The bar at Pink Door, a restaurant in Seattle you can easily miss, unless you know to look for…the pink door in a otherwise blank wall.
Some years ago, I was a newly-wed military wife. I had just moved from Berkeley to Oceanside, where my marine husband was stationed. Not a lot happens in Oceanside…I was constantly looking for things to do and one of my favorite things to do is attendIng concerts.
I don’t remember how people found out about such things back then (internet, of course, but with a lot more effort). Big concerts were advertised (like Radiohead, $150/ a cheap seat, no thanks). Others, the small bands on the margins, you had to be in the know.
I find out about a small venue in Los Angeles that hosts such bands. You do not, back in the mid-2000s, buy tickets in advance on your phone. You show up and if the venue still has a standing spot for you, you are in.
I follow the trail of scheduled shows and find one that, based on one or two audio samples, seems interesting. I research the band and, with the very limited information there is online at that time, decide this is it.
So, we ride to LA, maybe an hour and a half on the motorcycle, to cheat the traffic, and just because motorcycles are fun. The hole-in-wall venue has a line at the door but it is a manageable line, and we become a part of it. It is dark by then - the show was scheduled for 7 pm, but guess what, the band isn’t there, or isn’t ready enough, or they are doing very important things we will later thank them for - whatever it is, shows never start on time.
I stand in the line, in that dark and desolate LA alley, and study the others. What kind of a character goes to a weeknight concert at this tiny venue, to hear a band they have not been aware of until very recently? Why don’t they follow the establishment, the 5-star reviews, the sure thing you can buy advanced tickets to?
(And does it mean that Radiohead is the establishment? Whoa.)
What kind of a character indeed.
Eventually, we get into the tiny vestibule, prove that we are a few years older than 18, and pay the token admission fee. We made it.
Another half hour, or maybe more, passes by. I guess this is the time intended for everyone to buy drinks and get primed for the show.
And finally, finally, finally, someone enters the stage. It’s not quite enough to kill the hum of the people who came here to see the headliner, however obscure. A second person joins them. There is a viola, or maybe a guitar, and definitely a keyboard. Or is it drums?
“Good evening everyone! We are Wye Oak.”
The opening duo begins their set and I am immediately taken by it. I love everything about it, the pace, the lyrics, the low female vocal. How nerdy they both look. How uncomfortable to be on the stage. These are my people.
They go through their set, with reasonably good reception from the small crowd. And after, they move to the side of the room, to the small table with their one and only CD album for sale. I feel like I’m the only one who goes there and buys a CD. I say, “Hey, you guys were awesome. Thank you!”
And then, after a long intermission, there’s a headliner, they are entertaining and pretty good, and I enjoy watching the curious instruments they use.
But my heart is taken by Wye Oak.
No one expected this. This is the effect of the margins, the effect of appetizer eclipsing the main course, the effect of best human connections happening on the outside of the formal networking events and dating profiles. The unexpected by definition.
I don’t know why it works this way. It could be that we are more receptive to experiences that change us when we do not expect them. Maybe we like the feeling of discovery. Maybe the very nature of having a planned and scheduled life sets us up to lean into the margins, the gaps, the sidelines.
The video below is based on an accidental performance I stumbled upon at a book shop:
There is also something to be said for the discovery in the process. All of the daily writing, painting, creating routines bet on the effect of the margins. You focus on doing the thing and going through the motions, just so you can allow the greatness to happen when you least expect it to. But you need to be present for the process.
And it could be about the expectations. Did I expect the opening band to knock me off my feet? No, because it’s an opening band. They are expected to be the lesser beginners, the stragglers, the tag-alongs. And that’s exactly why the contrast between the expectation and the experience is so powerful.
So pay attention to the gaps. Be open to experience greatness where you least expect it. And scribble in the margins, those are the best parts of your story.