Dearly beloved
We are gathered here today
To get through this thing called life
Electric word life
It means forever and that’s a mighty long time
But I’m here to tell you
There’s something else:
The after world
A world of never ending happiness
You can always see the sun, day or night
So when you call up that shrink in Beverly Hills
You know the one, Dr. Everything’ll Be Alright
Instead of asking him how much of your time is left
Ask him how much of your mind, baby
‘Cause in this life
Things are much harder than in the after world
In this life
You’re on your own
And if the elevator tries to bring you down
Go crazy, punch a higher floor
If you don’t like the world you’re living in
Take a look around you
At least you got friends
- Prince, 1958-2016
I discover and acknowledge aspects of myself often enough. Sometimes I like what I discover and move on, appreciative of a new found knowledge and personal understanding. Other times I am left questioning more than I did in the beginning. There is more to learn, I tell myself. Sometimes I listen and learn. Sometimes I need a reminder. Sometimes I wittingly or unwittingly ignore the lessons, preparing wittingly or unwittingly for another day when I am more open. And sometimes I simply need to set up an appointment with Dr Everything’ll Be Alright. Wittingly or unwittingly.
Alas, often I find I am still in school, still taking some of the same tests, still fitting in, still having a crush on someone not paying attention…
About halfway into the musical “Pippin,” there is a beautiful, inspiring song titled “Morning Glow” where the cast sings of the future with glimmers of hope, change, faith and rebirth. And here I am writing away. About Prince. A man I know very little about. This is my Celebrity Mourning Glow.
The passing of Prince last week did not hit me as hard as it did some of my friends. I’ve been aware of his music, of course, but only peripherally so. I would not call myself a die-hard “fan” even if I admired the little work of his that I did know. I knew he was a remarkable guitarist but had little to no idea of the depth and breadth of his song writing catalogue. To me — at times — he came off as a bit full of himself. But then, there was a lot of talent in that small, himself frame.
In retrospect, who among us doesn’t at times come off as full of self? I include myself in that question. Really, I think I must be at least a little full of myself to think that I have anything important enough to write that might bring a smile, some acknowledgement, or hold the interest to people.
(After I submit this to my publisher, my plan is to toss my computer into the throngs of people in the audience, strutting away from my desk, seemingly full of myself.)
Soon after Prince died, my Facebook feed and personal interactions with people have been replete with crestfallen and melancholy expressions as well as inspiring Prince-isms. Face to face interactions with people have been sorrow-filled as if they were losing a dear, dear friend. There have also been a few darkly humored death jokes as well. (We are an interesting species, finding humor in dark times … and I have friends and acquaintances of many stripes.)
This was the same a few months ago when David Bowie passed away. Sorrow. Fond memories. Reflections of life-changing moments. Some ill-timed comments excused as humor from some. People deal differently, I guess. I’m not saying the pain over Prince’s death isn’t palpable or real, I just haven’t identified with it as heavily or as personally as, say, in 2014 when Robin Williams died. When I was younger, Robin spoke to me. Prince or Bowie, while I respected them, did not.
My pseudo-philosophical, semi-psychological theory as to why we, in general, tend to heavily mourn a celebrity death goes like this: We do not mourn for the celebrities as much as we mourn for ourselves. What we have lost is a piece of our youth. We did not really know the celebrity so well or even identified so much with their life. In truth, we are far from the reality of what they experienced (or struggled with) on a day to day basis — just as they are far from identifying with the trials and tribulations of our lives.
Even so, I think we mourn so profoundly because we do not feel sorrow for them so much as sorrow for ourselves. That we have lost a defining piece of our youth. The moment or moments where we discovered something in ourselves that was touched, that moved us, allowed us to speak, to sing, to play an instrument, to be funny, to identify (or question) our sexuality. To finally begin to accept ourselves … as we are.
There are some 
who do not understand these connections and pooh-pooh at the very idea of a mass mourning of celebrities like Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, fill-in-the-blank. They see only the headlines of how the person lived or died rather than how they touched someone emotionally. I also have had some acquaintances in my life that have scoffed at expressions of sorrow or glee if it disagrees with their own. “Hey guys, if you haven’t heard, Prince died. Well, anything to get Trump off my news feed.”
I find this interesting because no one else’s outlook seems to matter as long as their cutting, biting, I’m-smarter-than-you-are opinions are expressed. Well, unless I have asked outright for an opinion. I’ve done this a few times but a few of my acquaintances have bowed out graciously without sharing any advice, basically saying, “good luck.” That is, if they respond at all. Difficult to learn that way. I dealt, though. I can take constructive criticism. But when people avoid giving requested criticism, no one learns. And they just prove they still have issues with tact. Which they probably know, thinking they’ve spared me from their barbs.
I had absolutely no idea that Prince was such a generous and humanitarian artist, performing benefits and endowing up and coming artists as well. He did not want to shine a light on any good deeds. Good deeds were just good deeds. Still, to some of us, he was stuck up and full of himself. How little we know about “the more you know.”
“Hey guys, Trump said such and such. Well, anything to get Prince off my news feed.”
Sigh.
A little more than a month ago, I reactivated my account on OK Cupid, getting back into the dating game. I’ve met some like-minded and like-humored women and seemingly hit it off with a few of them through email, phone calls or a casual meet up. One commonality I have found is what *seems* to be an initial attraction or connection — even just as friends — can change in an instant with little to no follow up. And then I end up being confused and mourning the loss of something that never really was developed. I’ve questioned my initial judgments — wondering if what I’d seen or felt was real — but they bowed out graciously without sharing any advice or opinion and basically said, “good luck.” That is, if they respond at all.
So here we are. Still in school. Still taking some of the same tests. Still fitting in. Still having a crush on someone not paying attention. Still mourning and celebrating a piece of youth that prepared us for this moment. Dr. Everything’ll Be Alright says so.
Let’s Go Crazy…
Gary Trahan of Manchester, NH, has written and performed throughout New England, Colorado, Florida and New York City. Gary has written plays, sketches, screenplays and humor columns, including for almost three years as part of a rotating team of humor columnists submitting for the Encore section of The Nashua Telegraph. “Gare” received his BA from UMass/Amherst another lifetime ago, and has been learning lessons ever since. Writing and other forms of creativity help to keep him sane, uh, sanER. You can reach him at gareman2@aol.com.
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