Alive and Well and Living in Paris

In 2006, I attended the Off-Broadway revival of Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris. The songs/themes are quite dark (code for über depressing), but I found “My Childhood” to be hauntingly poignant; the simple melody combined with provoking lyrics and sentimentality make for an unforgettable song (lyrics below).

What is it that makes us sentimentalize childhood? Perhaps the memories of imagination: the feeling that we could pretend our own worlds into being, untouched by the reality of practicality.  Truly, I believe childhood is not so much the panacea we remember it being - yes, there are fewer practical worries of paying bills, but also a greater sensitivity to the “smaller” issues of taunting classmates or frightening monsters in the night. Rather, as adults I think we become rather lazy with our imaginations, seeing the world increasingly in black and white.  More of our cranial space is taken up with life’s necessities, and less with the “leisure” arts – imagination, creativity, spontaneity.  We call daydreamers impractical. Perhaps they are in terms of skills for securing a desk job, but if we do not take time to dream, our lives become more “nose to the grindstone” than “eyes to the heavens.”

Of course, I work in business (in accounting, no less), so perhaps this view of lost creativity might seem a skewed perspective as compared to those in full-time pursuit of the arts. Then again, our society places less monetary value on arts (at least in terms of salaries), so the mere stress of making a living surely robs many of their creative veins/dreams.

The point? Our imagination is a cognitive muscle like any other – it must be used, stretched, and practiced before it will grow stronger. Leave it in neglect too long and it will atrophy.

Recommendations? Find something that makes you uncomfortable – or at the very minimum, something that seems “pointless.” Check out a new genre of music. Visit an art gallery whose work you always thought was a bit odd. Donate to an artistic cause. Take the time to imagine if things were different. A friend once asked me “what would you do with your life if you had unlimited resources and knew you couldn’t fail?”

What would you do?

My Childhood (Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris) – translated from Brel's original French, sung by Gay Marshall

So my childhood goes on the wings of the silence
Of memory’s treason, and true make believe
Winter snowflakes like diamonds on the window sill
Where I press my chin
And dreamed summer in

Then I ride ‘cross the plains, I’m an Indian brave
On a pony of gold, never taking a rest
I battle to save, my warriors, my West 

So my childhood goes, on the steam of the cooking

I dream of charlotte ruses, and other truths
My mother plays mahjong, my father plays cards,
So distant, so wise,
They look right through my eyes.

So I block off my head, I pretend I’m a bird
That’s unseen and unheard, I have not said a word
Now I’m driving a train, it’s bedtime again

So my childhood goes, with white gloves and bonnets
Dissolving in teardrops until it’s all gone
How my anger rises, how i hold my breath
Against this whole family
Always ready for death

Always ready for grief, always ready for war
Oh, I want so much to dance on the graves they adore
Dance to bring back the dead, and it’s time for bed 

My childhood explodes, and it shatters the silence

And it smashes through grieving, with a beautiful noise
There was the first boy the first boy that I knew
And his first tender touch,
My first taste of love

I wanted to fly, and I swear that I flew!
My heart glowed like the sun, the dark days became bright

And then the war began, and here we are tonight