For as long as there have been stories, there have been fictional characters: manufactured personas to help us to see ourselves, understand previously unmined truths about our nature, create self-identity, and, when all goes well, aid in the process of individuation. Said in a less pretentious way, fictional characters: they’re just like us! Odysseus, Sancho Panza, The Wife Of Bath, Jo March, Holden Caulfield, Alexander Portnoy. Figures that are sometimes inspirational, sometimes shadowy, but ultimately relatable to a particular reader.
The fictional character with whom I am most spiritually aligned, who resides within me and sparks recognition in the pit of my stomach is not found in a book or film. He’s found in the archives of children’s public television programming from the 1970’s. He is a muppet named Don Music.
A world famous singer, composer, and hitmaker, Don Music is an uncompromised artist. He’s written some of the most famous songs that you’ve never heard of, such as “Mary Had A Bicycle”, “Drive Drive Drive Your Car” and “Whistle Whistle Little Bird.”
Don’s artistry is found in his method. We’re never privy to a moment of creative inception, we can only assume that his process begins with one. He does not read as the guy who takes himself to the piano to compose, no matter what. But we always meet him at the piano, three-quarters the way into completing his next #1 hit. He almost has it down, almost, except for one word. One word that needs to rhyme with a previous verse, a word that sounds like pony, snow, or sky. Does Don patiently, thoughtfully deliberate that word? Does he work through the problem with curiosity and self compassion? No, no he does not. Within three chords, his goal is insurmountable, the piece is garbage, he is garbage, the world is garbage. He cries “I’ll Never get it! Never!” and slams his forehead against the piano. Self aggrandizement and self defeat, a cacophonous medley.
The problem is, words are always hiding from Don. When he can’t find a metaphor for “life” that rhymes with stream, he falls apart and questions life itself. Over and over again, Don runs up against his limitations, and crumbles beneath them.
But as a successful and famous composer and naturally the subject of media attention, every Don Music bit features a visit from Kermit The Frog, Sesame Street News’s intrepid gumshoe. Kermit is always there to gently coax Don from the brink, suggesting another word that might work, or another direction for the song altogether. Kermit may have the answer, but Don must discover it for himself, find the solution that’s been hiding in plain sight, and the key to unlock his next #1 single. The revelation is the resolution. The song is performed with his accompanying band, order is restored, Don Music has done it again.
Of course, whoever came up with the Don Music arc didn’t pull it out of thin air. Don Music is an archetype who lives within most creative people. His trademarks are the conflicting energies of outsized vision and myopic thinking, crippling sensitivity, and a touch of narcissism. He is blind to reason, slave to capriciousness, a passenger traveling from depths of despair to the peaks of greatness and back again. He also has an instant backup band, but I chalk that up to white male privilege.
What kind of person who embarks on any creative endeavor can say that there is not a Don Music within? Here is my process:
1. Catch an idea.
2. Quickly foment the idea.
3. Quickly broadcast the idea, because that builds momentum.
4. Encounter reality.
5. Wouldn’t a little cranial blunt force feel better than a slow freefall back to mediocracy?
More often than not, the idea comes up against friction, becomes hard, needs more resources than I have, becomes more work than I want it to be, or loses its appeal. And just like that, it’s capital F failure. It’s the worst idea, the worst decision, forget I even said anything.
Successful people are always saying “perfect is the enemy of the good”. I like to say, “good is never good enough.” I want peerlessness and perfection. I want to get it right quickly so that I can receive the affirmation that I need to continue. So when perfection eludes me, I don’t bang my head metaphorically or literally, I abandon my project like a feral cat casting out the runt of her litter to save her milk for those likelier to survive.
Don has been with me since the beginning in writing, business, and in relationships. Maybe because I have so much shame around my whims, believing that I should live or die by the quality of my output, that not getting it right the first time is the same thing as Failure, and failure is not survivable. Of course this only applies to me, not to anyone else trying to write, create, start a business, or change careers. Everyone else has a pass, permission to fail, learn, and persevere with curiosity and humility. Me, I should know better.
A few differences between me and Don: I don’t play piano, I don’t talk to busts of Shakespeare and Beethoven, and I don’t have a Kermit. For it’s Kermit who appears at the precise moment that Don is about to quit. It’s Kermit who so subtly talks Don off the ledge and keeps him from drinking himself to death. Kermit is not a muse, he is a whisperer. He is just as impractical, he still leads Don astray, but he helps Don be Don. There is no Kermit walking up to my desk right as I slam my laptop shut to take a depression nap. Oh, to have a Kermit, and to be open enough to receive his questionable yet supportive advice! Lacking one, do I seek one out, or become my own? Can Kermit be a bunch of do/don’t habits? Or is Kermit our superego? Is Kermit the ghost of Christmas future? Buddha nature? If Don needs a Kermit to be Don…what do I need to be The Robin who I want to actualize, but am incapable of unleashing?
To be honest, I kind of hate Kermit. Make no mistake, he is not the hero of the story. Don’s ego and forehead are the true heroes. No, we wouldn’t have Mary’s bicycle without Kermit, but we wouldn’t have a bit without a tortured artist like Don. My fellow Dons out there, I see you. We are a mess. We aspire to nothing less than the platinum hit, and repeatedly miss. But we return our pianos, bruised and bloodied, suffering for our art and everything that gets in the way of it.
Postscript: In the event that someone (such as I) wanted to make a live action, biologically human Don Music vehicle, these are two casting suggestions I am very excited about: Jacob Elordi or Lee Pace.